


Killing Her Softly

by EnnaYork



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Abusive Parents, Blood and Gore, F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, Original Courts, Other, Platonic Soulmates, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Autumn Court (ACoTaR), The Spring Court (ACoTaR), Treason, Under the Mountain - Freeform, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-01-01 08:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18332678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnnaYork/pseuds/EnnaYork
Summary: Accusations of treachery, spies, monsters and assassins. Amarantha is poised to take all of Prythian. The Spring Court is plotting to kill her. A plan that is doomed to fail and result in a curse that will last fifty years.





	1. Prologue

Leta’s life changed in a matter of seconds. Her sister had been hopeful for days now that things would change since their father, Lord Entwhistle, had been summoned to the Spring Manor to speak with the High Lord. Iphigenia would sigh at every opportunity and whisper dreamily about getting an offer of betrothal for herself or Leta. She’d describe in detail how wonderful it would be to live in the Spring Manor or at least in a residence closer to it and less isolated. By now Iphigenia had planned out every single aspect of her wedding at last five times over.  
Leta had been less then hopeful about her own marriage prospects and instead sought enjoyment and solace in exploring the manor grounds. They’d gotten permission to freely wander through the gardens and the forest on the property. Leta made sure to take full advantage of it. So despite her sister’s protests every afternoon just after tea they’d go for a short ride on their horses through the forest. And once they returned to the manor Leta would allow Iphigenia to go and flirt with the courtiers and guards. Allowing Leta to explore the High Lord’s garden uninterrupted.  
Today had not been any different. The day started the way it always had. The soft gentle colours and familiar sounds of the grounds around the Spring Manor. Not all that different than those at her own manor. The sisters took their breakfast in their shared room. Iphegina regaling her sister with all the wonderful suitors she’d meet, and sighing over the most recent one to win her heart. Their chambermaids helped dress them afterwards so that they may present themselves before High Lord Tamlin himself. The girls then sat down for tea in the garden, Leta still marvelling over the sheer expanse and beauty of it all. Once tea time was over their personal guard brought from home, Jamie, walked them to the stables to retrieve their geldings. And like every other day they set off to go through the now familiar trail in the forest.  
Then Leta’s whole world was made up of soft spring sunlight pouring down through branches tinged a faint shade of green from the new canopy above. The sounds of spring time filling her ears. The chatter of squirrels and birds, along with the soft padding of the horses. Her nostrils were full with the smells of spring as well, the delicate perfume of fresh flowers. The world it seemed was gentle and soft.   
And then it seemed the world was made up of screams, horror, blood and darkness in the amount of time it took a bush to rustle.


	2. Chapter 2

She would remember riding on her favourite gelding that she affectionately named Prince. A beautiful creature imported from the far off country that supposedly her mother hailed from on the continent. Her sister was riding behind on her own tiny silver coated jennet named Sparkle. Their guard was Jamie guiding Sparkle by the reins. 

Jamie was a constant presence in Leta’s life. He had been a security blanket and source of comfort to know he was always there within reach ready to draw his elaborate sword at a moment’s notice to protect the siblings. Jamie was like the knight in the bedtime stories Leta read to her sister. Leta didn’t need to fawn over the High Lord’s guards or flaunt herself before courtiers if she had Jamie. At least that’s how it used to be.

And for many more years to come Leta could recall how birds sang between the tree branches and the air smelt of the sweet perfume of the flowers. And then birds scattered and stopped their singing. The horses grew wary and skittish. And then the beast loomed out from the bushes. 

True terror Leta decided after all was said and done involved lots of confusion, and that’s perhaps what made life or death situations so horrifying was because they didn’t make any sense. Time didn’t flow right, too fast at times then too slow at others coupled with lapses in time and memory. Senses swung wildly in and out of focus.

The next thing Leta knew she was repeatedly driving a dagger into a naga praying it was dead as her half-sister screamed in terror under her. And then she collapsed certain her own death was near from the wounds she’d received in the struggle. It was in a pain induced haze she was brought back to the manor. The world felt like it had been submerged under water her vision blurry and hearing dampened.

The entire time they transported her, Leta’s hand refused to release the blood soaked dagger she’d used because Jamie’s presence was no longer enough to assure her she was safe. It didn’t matter that his hand was on her shoulder trying to comfort her, or that the threat was gone. That dagger that she’d always thought would be useless to her was now the one and only thing she trusted in. It was her only reason for being alive. Death itself would have to take it from her.

She was aware that she was covered in blood from head to toe. Both her own and the naga’s. Her hair full of dirt, leaves, and branches from when she was pinned to the earth. Her father was mortified at the wounds on her face because of scars that would never disappear. She was grateful her father was a doctor. If he hadn’t been she doubted they would have gotten her to the village in time let alone found a doctor to keep her alive. Her father had come to life the second Jamie kicked open the doors bellowing and pleading for any form of help for his lady. 

Servants rushed to drag furniture in place and snatch her father’s medical equipment and whatever else they felt he needed. It was a long and brutal day and Leta would forever be thankful for the times when the pain was so great she’d lose her grip on consciousness and slip away. By the time her father was done healing her to the best of his ability her fate was still uncertain. He’d cleaned every single one of her wounds despite the agony it caused her. No matter how many times she cried, screamed and pleaded for him to stop he never did. She didn’t know if she should hate him or thank him for that. He stitched close the large gaping wounds on her abdomen and chest, applying bandages and medicines to speed the healing processes.

She was still in too delicate a condition to be moved. Her father didn’t want to risk moving her and reopening her wounds. Not just because her life was at stake, but because it’d mean more stitches and more scars. And more importantly blood spilled in the house on bed linens and expensive rugs. That was how Leta found herself sitting up in a makeshift bed near the foyer waiting all night to see if she would live to see the next dawn.

At this time her desire to be unconscious was gone because there was no pain. She felt like she’d wasted all her reserves to feel pain because there was only numbness now. And that worried her, so she forced herself to stay awake until dawn. If she was going to die before the next sunrise, she’d be awake for every minute she had left. If she’d live then there’d be time later to sleep. She was reading by faint candle light to herself one of her favourite sagas. 

Jamie collapsed on a sofa that had been carried next to her bed. He refused to leave her side but nonetheless exhausted from the day’s events as well. He’d promised her he’d only shut his eyes for a minute but that had been hours ago. She didn’t have the heart to wake him, not after all he’d risked to keep her alive and not after the gruelling punishments her father threatened to give him for allowing a naga of all things to get that close to his precious daughters.

And that’s how Leta found herself witness to the front door of the manor being knocked in by a tremendous force. She jerked upright in the bed screeching in agony at the stitches that ripped and the wounds that reopened from the sudden movement. Her bed shirt was rapidly growing red with newly spilled blood she really could not afford to be losing at this point.

But perhaps bleeding out was the least of her worries when there was a raging monster in the foyer that was able to fluently roar in the common tongue. She knew what it was immediately, she’d read so many tales and heard so many stories that it had to be the High Lord himself. She’d only caught glimpses of him throughout her visit. Quick snatches of his face and voice. But she knew that this creature before her with curling horns and a powerful body was the High Lord. Blood covered his muzzle, dripped from his sharp fangs and soaked into his fur. His nails clacked along the floor of the manor as he left bloody prints.

An electric current of terror ran through Leta. The High Lord had just returned from killing someone or perhaps something. And now he was coming for her. She wasn’t sure where she’d gotten that idea from, but she was certain he was here for her next.

Jamie was awake in a flash to get in front of Leta his hand on his sword. Leta floundered around her, her hands madly sifting through the sheets she was buried in to find her parazonium blade. She’d never thought she’d ever wield the blade in her life and now twice in one day the heirloom from her mother was all that stood between her and death.  
“I demand to know who it was that killed that naga!” The beast bellowed. Jamie was trembling. His sword wavered in fright in front of him and he recoiled a step into Leta’s bed. He glanced back at her his eyes wide and petrified. Because there was no way to get out of this alive.

“I did!” Leta announced with a surge of confidence she didn’t know she had. Ignoring the pain it caused her she forced herself out of her bed. Blood dripped down at her feet in small puddles the sight of which made her woozy. And as she strode towards the High Lord she left a trail of bloodied foot prints in her wake. If she was going to die, which seemed entirely certain at this point, she would go out doing everything she could to save Jamie, her sister and her servants.

She opened her mouth and her voice quivered, “I did it. I was the one that slayed the naga.”

The High Lord took one long look at her taking in the damage done to her body. From the claw marks on her face to the blood on his floor and seeping through her clothes. She watched as his eyes dropped down to the weapon clutched in her hand. It was a decorative blade, her father told her that her mother only ever used it as a looking glass. She swallowed nervously hoping the High Lord didn’t think she was a threat for it.

“I did not want to die today,” she stated slowly her tongue having difficulty moving in her mouth as though she’d stuffed it with cotton. The beast turned towards her, the way its’ shoulders moved it looked as though it were getting ready to pounce. So when her legs gave out from under her which she attributed to dying of blood loss she thanked the nameless goddess because it would certainly be better than getting ripped apart by that thing.


	3. Chapter 3

When Leta regained consciousness, she felt was warmth on her cheeks and face. Her eyes lids burned bright orange and she knew some warm light source was pouring over her. As her eyes fluttered open she fully expected to see the afterlife greeting her. She was greatly distressed to find not the afterlife awaiting her but an unfamiliar bedroom.

The warmth and light she had felt had been the sun streaming in. It was a very masculine room. The bed itself all dark colours and covered in furs. There was nothing even remotely similar to her own bedroom at home. No pretty vanity table with shinning mirrors and make up kits, no fortepiano for her to practice on or books stacked on her nightstand to devour. There was a desk opposite of a bed, its large size and the matching red plush chair seemed very masculine. Over it hung a taxidermy deer head; it’s large dark eyes staring at Leta as if to ask were you the one to kill me? 

When she realized she didn’t feel any pain of stitches popping or wounds reopening she bolted upright and her hands pressed down on her chest. There was only a dull ache like a bruise that was almost fully healed instead of an angry screech of bloody wounds threatening to reopen at a second’s notice. Her hands felt through the thin fabric of the new night gown curious as to what became of her wounds. Her fingers traced over the scabbing, stitches and bandaging. Her fingers trembled over the foreign sensations on her own body. She’d rarely ever gotten hurt as a child, she couldn’t afford scars. And now there were monstrous scars that would be there for life. With dawning realization she couldn’t help wondering in horror how her face looked.

She kicked off the linens and furs and rushed to the adjoining bathroom there had to be a mirror in there. She found it right by the door. Her hands shook and tears formed in the corners of her eyes as she worked to remove her night gown. The fabric slid down her body, she caught it just as it slipped down to her waist.

She was left in front of the mirror staring at what she’d become. The wounds hadn’t yet fully healed, in fact she still had bandages wrapped around her abdomen. She could smell the yarrow and dittany that had been used in the dressings to keep the wound clean and promote healing. The wounds on her chest had become red and black scabs against her tawny brown skin. They’d leave scars thicker than her fingers. Worst of all was her face. Her throat swelled but she didn’t know what to feel or what she should feel in response to this. 

Should she feel fear she wondered. Fear of the unknown, she didn’t know where was she, who had treated her, how long had she been unconscious for her wounds to heal, among countless other things. Relief and happiness? Everything was healed, she no longer needed to worry if she died and she was obviously well cared for. Violation? Someone had changed and tended to her while she was unconscious without her permission. Gratitude that they’d saved her life? Anger that they hadn’t let her die?

But she didn’t have to decide what it was she felt because suddenly the door to her room opened. She twisted immediately to look at who was coming in, hoping a familiar face but at the very least it should be a chambermaid. Instead she found herself watching as an attractive male let himself into her room. She froze in panic as she stared at him. She’d seen him frequently during her visit, it was the court emissary, Lucien Vanserra. Although Iphigenia and herself were to present themselves every morning to the High Lord, more often than not one of his many underlings received them instead and Lucien had been the most frequent one. 

His long fire red hair was worn loose today, and he had dressed in a green tunic with golden embellishments. His lone russet eye had been scanning the room, starting from the bed and working across the room until it landed on her. He stared fixedly at her while she stood gawking at him. His jaw dropped in surprise and his feet had stopped moving. The heavy wooden door swung shut behind him as they both stared in surprise. It took her several seconds to realize that she was disrobed.

“Don’t look!” She screamed at the top of her lungs and she floundered to pull the night gown back up into place and keep herself covered by holding it in place. Her face was red and flush with embarrassment. The man turned to leave startled by her outcry only to slam face first into the door. If she wasn’t so mortified she’d have probably found it hilarious. But then she realised he probably ran into the door from his newfound blind spot and she felt guilty about finding it funny. Her fingers worked quickly to put the gown back in place.

“I am so sorry miss! I didn’t realize you would be awake!” he apologized to her in a rush as he went to tear open the door.

“Wait!” she blurted in a panic which made his hand freeze in place over the door handle. She had so many questions she wanted to ask and more just kept coming to her that she couldn’t form a clear sentence in her head let alone get her tongue to move. The emissary turned to look at her and she was glad that he was blushing from the roots of his hair to his neck like she was. 

An awkward silence dragged on between them. And it slowly dawned on Leta that even with half her face torn off she had at least kept her eye unlike Lucien had. An empty socket stared back at her, she supposed pity or disgust should have kicked in by reflex and instead she found solace in the fact she wasn’t the only one like this.

“I should go inform Tamlin that you are awake,” Lucien stated as if he were informing both Leta and himself of this.

“Yes of course,” Leta agreed with a curtesy and deep bow of her head, “My lord might I ask where is my sister and my guard?” she asked him wondering where Jamie had gone. Surely he wouldn’t leave her side unless something had happened. 

He cleared his throat.

“I believe Tamlin will tell you all that you need to know,” he informed her and she could see his one good eye flicker with worry. His brows twitched threatening to knit themselves together. He looked very much like he wanted to leave.

“Will I have time to change into something more suitable?” Leta asked really not wanting to present herself before the High Lord in her night clothes. But that just reminded her of what happened and the blush that had been fading from her cheeks rekindled. She felt hot from the back of her neck to the roots of her hair. The court emissary’s cheeks went red as well.

“I’ll see to it that you have time to change Miss Entwhistle,” he stated and then quickly departed from her room. The exchange answered many questions but also then made new ones. She knew she was still in the Spring Manor, under the care of the High Lord. But it was odd that the Court Emissary was the one coming to look in on her and not her own family or servants.

She glanced around the room again, she hadn’t noticed the bear skin rug on the floor nor the tapestry that hung next to the door. The room was larger and more stately then the two rooms that had been given to her family for their stay. Leta and Iphigenia had to share a room. Not that either sister could complain, it meant they could talk in hushed whispers well into the night about their excitements. Her father had been given his own room, not much larger than the one given to the sisters. He hadn’t been impressed with the accommodations.

She strode over to the large window to glance out and see where in the manor they had moved her. Her previous room had overlooked the gardens, but now she overlooked the front lawn and the gates.

Since it appeared that she wouldn’t be expecting any chambermaids to come and assist her she decided to dress herself. She found the wardrobe easily enough. It wasn’t a surprise that it was massive in size nor that it had a large carving of a bear and a hunter on its doors. She creaked open the mahogany doors and peered inside, her dresses that she’d brought with her on her trip had been moved for her. She flitted through them immediately discounting the ones she’d struggle to put on by herself. She settled for a simple pastel pink gown that didn’t look to difficult to put on. 

She wasn’t sure how long Lucien had given her and dressed as quickly as her condition allowed. Rifling through the drawers of the wardrobe to find her shift, and underskirts. She gently laced the corset into place minding her left side. Finally she slid the gown on over top wincing at having to stretch her left arm over her head. Afterwards as she took in steadying breaths she smoothed out the wrinkles and creases in it. 

Reflexively she reached up to tie her hair up, it wouldn’t do to have it down. Her hair wasn’t straight and fine like Iphigenia’s unless she worked oils and heat through it in the morning. Her father had always said that because hair was curling and waving it wasn’t proper to just have hanging loose. But the stretching of her left arm upwards pulled on the healing wound and made a small whimper tear through her lips. She’d have to deal with her hair being loose.

Through the fabric of her dress Leta took the time to examine the state of her wounds. Her upper chest and face were now scabs, she’d have to make sure to wash them regularly. It seemed her abdomen and some of her chest still had stitches under the bandages. The wound wasn’t as delicate as when she’d first gotten it but she would have to mind it to make sure she didn’t tear it open. When her fingers brushed across her cheek she whimpered at the stinging of her scabs. She hadn’t had the chance to examine her face yet and didn’t know what it looked like. She wasn’t certain she wanted to know what her new face looked like.

Now that she’d taken stock of herself she was left to ponder what was going to happen next. Presumably the High Lord himself was coming to her chamber. Either that or Lucien had neglected to tell her when and where to go or who would be arriving to escort her. 

She paced the room anxiously trying to figure out why the High Lord wanted to see her. If it was about the attack surely a guard, a sentry, or even the captain of the guards would be better. If it was about her condition then it should be a doctor, her own father would be best. She wondered if it was because the High Lord wanted to apologise that such a thing had happened while she was on his grounds. 

Not only that, she was wracking her brain trying to figure out how to properly present herself to the High Lord. Last time she’d seen him she’d brandished a blade at him half deliriously before collapsing from blood loss.

She paced slowly around the room, if she moved to quickly or twisted too much her wounds would screech in protest. After what seemed like only moments there came a knock at her door and she froze mid-step. Even though she’d been mentally preparing herself she wasn’t ready, every conversation she’d thought up in her head was for naught.   
“Miss Entwhistle?” Lucien’s voice called out. She wrung her hands nervously aware that sweat was puckering on her brow. She returned to the center of the room and nervously straightened out her skirt.

“You may come in,” she called out worried at how small her voice sounded. The door opened and Lucien entered first. He gave a polite, gentlemanly bow of his head. Unlike last time his injured eye was covered by an eye patch and a pang of worry tore through Leta. Had he seen me staring? Have I offended him? She wondered. 

His fiery red hair had been captured in a loose ponytail which only reminded her of her own hair hanging loose. He’d changed into a different outfit of more muted colours. On his face was the slightest hint of a scowl. Behind him entered the High Lord.

Tamlin was dauntingly attractive up close, his presence demanded attention to be focused on him. A golden mane of hair was caught in a braid on the back of his neck. Piercing jade green eyes fixed on Leta as she curtseyed as low as she was able to. His magic carried with it a distinct scent that filled her nostrils immediately. The smell so intense that she involuntarily opened her mouth to breathe through it instead of her nose. He was large and imposing this close. His skin was browned by the sun and lighter than Lucien’s and Leta’s. 

Leta tried not to recoil or look afraid when she spotted the bandolier of knives strapped across his chest. She only allowed her breath to catch for just a moment before composing herself. Her eyes darted over to see the Court Emissary had armed himself as well. A curved blade rested on his hip that hadn’t been there last time. 

The High Lord’s green eyes fixed on her and narrowed. He studied her closely as if sizing her up and down. It was as if he expecting a fight. Her heart raced nervously in her chest. Why was her host looking at her so accusatorily? Why were they expecting her to put up a fight? 

“Are the one who killed the naga?” he asked her in a deep booming voice. The air in the room shifted as if a light breeze was blowing through; but the doors and windows closed. The tang of iron grew stronger and Leta knew it was the High Lord’s magic.

“Yes my lord, I-” Leta began with a bow of her head but she was quickly interrupted by the next question.

“And when Lucien was in here this morning the first thing you asked for was your family was it not?” Tamlin asked her his voice stern. She was confused as to what was going on with this line of questioning.

“My sister, yes of cou-” she began only to be cut off once again.

“What connections do you have with Amarantha?” this question was sharp and she watched his hands fist by his sides as he asked it. Even at her father’s remote manor they’d heard the whispers about the High Lord’s temper. Leta knew that was why her father retired to his manor following Tamlin’s ascension. It was to get away from the court. What she didn’t know was what she’d done to incur the High Lord’s wrath.

“Do you mean amarantos, as in the flower?” she asked for clarification, unsure of why he would be asking her of the brutal general from the war. The war was hundreds of years before she’d been born. Leta had had no part in it. She was merely the step daughter of a doctor.

“No,” came the High Lord’s reply.

“My Lord, I don’t understand what is going on,” Leta explained to him, “Why would I know a Hybernian general?”

“Because you are being accused of being a spy,” he informed her gravely and it felt as if a great weight had suddenly been put on her back. The title, though false, was heavy and suffocating. Her mind was racing trying to determine what it was that she’d done to make herself seem like a spy.

Leta wanted nothing more than to blurt out an accusatory ‘what’. But she caught herself before she could, she was a lady and she’d remain composed. She swallowed down her anger an instead asked in a trembling voice, “excuse me my lord but I believe I’ve misheard you.”

“You stand accused of being a spy and conspiring against the Spring Court and the whole of Prythian,” he told her in his deep voice that seemed to shake the room. His hands were curled into tight fists by his sides that trembled.

“I was attacked by a naga. It dragged my sister off her horse. I had to wrestle it to the ground to get it off of her. It killed my horse. It very nearly killed me too!” Leta argued now trying her best to uphold her responsibility to remain polite and uphold decorum, “I had to kill it with my own two hands. And now you’re telling me that I’m being accused of being a spy?”

The Court Emissary stepped forwards placing a hand on his High Lord’s chest to push him back slightly. His russet eye fixated itself on Leta, “Miss Entwhistle, during your stay here at the manor. Am I correct in saying you regularly visited our library and gardens unaccompanied even by your own guard?”

“We only brought one guard with us. I thought it would be better for my sister to have one by her side,” she explained, “Otherwise I would have had Jamie at my side at all times.” She inwardly cringed at speaking so casually about Jamie. But didn’t let it show, it would only make her look more suspicious.

“But you were alone for long periods of time every day?” Lucien pressed her.

“Yes, but that-” it seemed they’d never let her fully explain herself or answer any questions seeing as they kept interrupting her. 

“So there were plenty of opportunities for you to meet with other spies, such as that naga,” the emissary continued.

“It tried to kill me!” Leta raised her voice, she almost never raised her voice. It wasn’t lady like. But then again she’d never had her temper tested like this before. 

“But you don’t deny that it was a spy?” He asked her and she could see Tamlin’s mouth pressed into a tight firm line behind him. The High Lord had fallen silent. It seemed he trusted Lucien to interrogate her, and that he was content with listening intently.

“That was my first time ever encountering a naga! This is ridiculous! I have no idea why I am being interrogated like this!” she demanded as her hands balled by her sides. She’d never been in a fight before in her life, had never raised a hand against anyone. But right now she was getting ready to slap either one of them if they came near her.

“I want my guard! At the very least get my father!” she requested testily, “I refuse to answer any more of your silly questions.”

“That won’t be possible,” Tamlin growled, and she froze at the flash of his teeth. The room began to shake violently. The wardrobe’s doors swung open and shut, and the chandelier overhead made of antlers swung wildly. The High Lord was going to hurt her.

“JAMIE!” Leta screamed at the top of her voice, she’d only ever had to scream of his help one other time in her life. And that was when she’d watched in terror as the naga leapt at Iphigenia, slamming her to the ground. She hoped this time Jamie would be there.

“JAMIE!” she screamed again. She lunged for the large window behind her, her hands working to open the locks. She threw it open and wished that the heady perfume of flowers and smells of spring brought her comfort.

“Jamie!” she screeched again praying that he could hear her. She was aware that the staff could hear her and were looking at her. She threw her leg out the window. Her plan had been to climb down but at this rate falling to get away would do. She shifted her weight to throw herself through the window and prepared to kick her other foot up when a hand clamped down on her wrist.

She looked back at Tamlin as his large hand crushed down on her wrist, she screamed. Her voice cracked at the high pitch she’d managed. With a yank her dragged her back into the room and slammed the window behind her.

“I want my guard,” she whispered in terror, “I want my father here right now.”

She never asked for her father, he had always been distant and cold. She’d stopped asking for him as a child when it was apparent he’d never come unless it was to tell her not to bother him. But he could protect her right now with his title and his wealth. He would protect her, he had no choice. If she were accused of being a spy it would reflect badly on him. For once in her life her father would protect her.

She fought against Tamlin, felt her wounds screech. She could feel the newly healed flesh tear. He continued to drag her across the room even as she tried to plant her feet. His grip was like iron, she knew if he wanted to that he could snap her wrist in two easily.

“Tamlin, she’s hurt,” Lucien announced and Leta slowly swiveled her head to look at him and then down at herself. It was true. She’d reopened some of her wounds. They were bleeding through her gown. Ugly deep red splotches against her pastel pink gown. She felt sick and nauseous at the sight of her own blood.

“I want to go home,” Leta whimpered like a small child. And perhaps compared to these two she really was nothing more than a child. She wanted her familiar bed, she wanted her familiar books, she wanted her own little garden and its pungent smell of herbs. She wanted her home back. She didn’t want to be alone with these men accusing her of committing crimes.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to stay here for a little while longer,” Lucien informed her gravely, “Tam, let’s allow her a chance to change her bandages and calm down.” The emissary suggested and Leta watched the angry scowl the High Lord gave him in return.

“Sure let’s give her time to get her story straight Lucien,” the High Lord sneered, “Let her figure out what to tell us to make her seem innocent. She’s a spy, we can’t trust a word out of her mouth.”

“I’m not a spy!” Leta argued weakly as her legs threatened to give out, “I don’t understand what is going on.”

“I’ll stay with her Tam. That way she can’t get information from the servants or slip any messages,” Lucien suggested to Tamlin far too quickly to be anything other than a pre-emptive decision, “She’s just woken up after a weeks’ worth of rest. She’s dazed, if she does confess it will be confused.”

The High Lord looked down at her with an angry scowl and Leta cringed under his gaze. He released her arm and she pulled it against her chest, rubbing at the red angry marks there. He took a step towards her and she retreated back a step. She glanced down at the angry red marks on her wrist that would most definitely be bruises in the morning.

“I’ll give her one hour to get healed, and then we’re going to wring her for every bit of information that we can,” Tamlin snarled at Lucien. He then lowered his voice as he glared her down, “When I’m through with you I’ll finish what that naga started.”

She shivered as a chill ran down her spine. She remembered those claws that had clacked along the tile of the foyer, the teeth that had dripped blood. She had no doubt that he’d rip her limb from limb easily. But for what she still didn’t know. Why was there suspicion of a Hybernian spy, and why her?

“Understood my lord. I’ll have her ready in your study in exactly an hour,” Lucien announced puffing out his chest and folding his arms behind his back. Tamlin stepped back from her still staring at her with that accusatory look, “I think you should go about preparing your questions for the interrogation Tam.”

The High Lord left, banging the door shut behind him, Leta flinched. She sniffled and searched her pockets for a handkerchief. She was left alone with the Court Emissary once again. He didn’t seem like a friendly gentleman anymore but a cunning tactician. Both she and the High Lord had fallen into his trap.

“You’re quite good at this aren’t you? The whole helpless little maiden act?” he said glancing at her with his one good eye, “Now that it’s just the two of us, feel free to drop it. I won’t gut you the second you give me your confession. So I suggest delivering it rapidly so I can figure out how to calm Tamlin.”

“I’m not a spy,” Leta repeated, she felt like a character in one of the books she always had her nose in. However, this wasn’t exactly how she saw herself getting thrown into an exciting adventure. “How you even came to that conclusion is beyond me. I was nearly murdered and apparently that stands as ground for accusing someone of being a spy!”

“You were killed in order to keep the cover of other spies. At least that was what was supposed to have happened wasn’t it?” the emissary said with a smug smirk on his face, “That naga had just gotten in contact with another spy in the manor, and while it was carrying the information back it tried to kill you as well. I wonder why? Did you perhaps blow your cover? Fail some mission? Maybe you were made replaceable.”

“I’m not a spy,” Leta repeated as she gave up her search for a handkerchief and settled for swiping her thumb under her eyes. Her wrist still throbbed from Tamlin’s tight grasp.

“And I’m not from the Autumn Court,” the court emissary sighed seeming exasperated, “Is that really your only defence? To just keep denying it?” he asked her with a roll of his eye.  
“Considering I’m completely innocent yes it is! I thought we were supposed to be getting my injuries looked at!” She snapped at him, “My wounds have been reopened, and at this rate this gown is going to be ruined. I request a healer.”

“You will not be provided one, I lied. You can tend to your own injuries can you not? You are the daughter of a doctor. I’ll have a maid fetch whatever you need but we’re not leaving this room until we go to see Tam,” He informed her.

“You accuse people and you lie; are you sure you’re not the spy?” Leta questioned him. He smirked in response to that. He paced back and forth in front of her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. She doubted he’d draw it, Lucien wasn’t known for his combat abilities. But he at least had combat abilities and a weapon. If he wanted to he could in fact gut her in a second.

“Not for Amarantha I’m not,” he answered her with a wry grin, “But I told Tam that we’d need an hour so I could question you myself. I have a bit more control then him, and I’m going to wring you for everything you have.”

“Well congratulations job is done! I’ve told you everything, I’m not a spy. And to think we’ve wasted an hour of the High Lord’s time for something so simple,” Leta responded surprised at herself. She usually only ever got like this when she was talking with Iphigenia or Jamie, yet here she was snapping at the Court Emissary. Her father would cane her if he could see her right now.

“Well if we’re going to be pointing out characteristics that make us likely of being a spy, Miss Entwhistle you’ve got far more than me. I mentioned earlier you’ve spent an awful lot of time alone and unsupervised on the manor grounds, with access to our library,” Lucien countered, “I’ve looked into your family, and even for the reclusive Entwhistle family you are quite the loner. You’re not even his real daughter are you? You’re not even from Prythian. You have no loyalties to this Court or this continent.”

“I’ve spent my entire life here! This Court is my home, how dare you accuse me of being a traitor!” her hands fisted at her sides and her eyes burned but she refused to cry because she was angry, “If we’re going to go around using people’s heritage as grounds of accusations at least I’ve spent my entire life at this court unlike you.”

“What were you looking for in the library?” Lucien asked completely disregarding her.

“Do your ears not work?” she asked him, “Or did Amrantha rip those off when she took your eye out? I can see why with the way both you and High Lord Tamlin seem not to hear a word I say!” She shut her mouth immediately after that slipped out. She wasn’t one for being mean or cruel. She’d actually surprised herself with what she blurted out under pressure.

The Court emissary meanwhile frowned at her, his two brows knit together in an angry scowl. His shoulders raised and a snarl stretched across his lips. He stepped towards her and she somehow found it in herself to hold her ground.

“Vile little Hybernian supporter,” he spat at her.

“You Autumn Court bastard!” she screamed back at him he went to grab her and she slapped him. Her hand stung, it was the first time she’d ever slapped someone. Lucien blinked at her as the angry red hand shaped mark blossomed on his cheek, “Don’t touch me you monster! I can’t believe my father treated you when you lost your eye! I think I understand now why we live so far from the manor is to keep away from you maniacs!”

“If you’re not going to be getting me a healer than get me some medicinal herbs so I can do it myself!” she’d never heard her voice so shrill, she’d never bossed anyone around like this before in her life either, “Bring me to where your healers are or at least to the supplies!”

He was silent, his eye fixed on the ground as he scowled at it angrily. His shoulders were trembling with anger and a muscle feathered in his jaw. There was a crack and Leta found her head twisted all the way around as she stumbled back. He’d slapped her back. She hadn’t been slapped in years now, and the sting on her jaw wouldn’t be fading any time soon. He’d made a mistake though because he’d slapped her right back towards the window. Tamlin hadn’t locked it, merely slammed it shut. She clutched the window frame and glanced back at Lucien.

“You slap like my governess,” she spat at him as she snaked her fingers under the window, “If you meant to make it hurt use your rings next time they’ll tear open my face.” And with that quip she threw open the window and tossed herself through it. 

Her stomach flipped as she did in the air. The wind breezed past her ear and her white blond hair was thrown in her face. She couldn’t tell if she was up or down and could only pray she wouldn’t land on her head. She suddenly slammed into the ground on her back, her head snapped back and cracked against the hard soil. She wheezed as the air had been knocked out of her. There had been a crack and she was fairly certain she’d cracked at least a rib.

She was staring dizzily straight above as the emissary stuck his head out the window, his long red hair blowing in the wind. Leta found it in her to move her arm to deliver a very unladylike hand gesture to him. There was something thrilling in that rebellious action that she admired. Still trying to catch her breath Leta pushed herself up and got to her feet.

“JAMIE!” She screamed once again as she stumbled towards the front gates not exactly sure of what her plan was, “Jamie!” She clutched at her side as she limped towards the gate. 

She didn’t get far before a hand clamped down on her wrist. She screamed and swung her hand out again. Her nails caught flesh and she wracked down Lucien’s face before snatching at his hand on her wrist.

“Help!” she bellowed as she clawed and yanked to get free, “Help!” she watched as the gardeners and the few scattered guards on the lawn paused, “Unhand me you brute!” 

“I know why that naga killed you, you’re useless,” Lucien informed her with disgust.

“Because I’m not a spy,” she growled as he dragged her back towards the manor.

“And stop screaming for your guard, he’s not here anymore.” Lucien commented with an annoyed tone. She felt like he wasn’t supposed to divulge that information but had because she was grating on his nerves. But her stomach churned nervously at the news and her mouth tasted sour.

“What do you mean he’d not here anymore?” she asked him in a tiny voice. She hadn’t been separated from Jamie since she was small, he’d always been merely a call away. This trip in fact had been the most time they’d spent apart in decades.

“That he’s not here.” Lucien repeated and Leta froze digging her heels into the dirt. He turned to look back at her, the scratches she’d made on his face streaming red tears down his cheek.

“What do you mean he’d not here? What did you do to him you monster!” she stated accusatorily, “What did you do to Jamie! He’d not a spy; he’s a guard and a good man! He’s got three sisters and a brother that he loves very much. He’d never do anything to hurt them.”

Lucien had gotten very quiet as he studied her.

“Please? I won’t run away any more if you tell me, what happened to Jamie? Please tell me you didn’t hurt him, his siblings need his income. If he can’t work as a guard then they can’t pay the tithe.”

“He’s gone back to the Entwhistle manor with your sister, he’s seeing to her safety,” Lucien informed her. His tone was terse and again it sounded like he was telling her something he wasn’t supposed to be and didn’t really want to either. Leta gave out a cry of relief and her legs gave out. She seemed to surprise Lucien as she suddenly fell to her knees crying in relief. At least her sister and Jamie were safe. At the very least neither of them were being wrongly accused.

She sat there on the lawn of the Spring Manor sobbing in relief. At least Iphigenia isn’t going through this insanity Leta thought happily, she could never imagine her gentle little sister being a spy let alone enduring being accused of being a spy.

“G-get to your feet!” Lucien ordered her with a stutter as he tried to pull her up by her wrists. He still seemed surprised at her sudden collapse on the front lawn.

“You promise she’s okay? Promise me right now that Iphy is safe,” Leta managed through her tears as she sat stubbornly on the ground despite the emissary’s attempts to lift her up, “She didn’t get hurt did she? I couldn’t tell if that thing got her.”

“When I saw that it had knocked her off her pony I didn’t think, I just rushed over. And then it killed Prince and we were on the ground. She was screaming and it came at us and I just knew that I had to protect her,” Leta couldn’t keep it together let alone in, the words just came spilling out of her in a flood, “I kept her under me. We didn’t get a chance to get to our feet, and it was clawing and snapping at me the entire time. And then we left her there, after I killed the naga. We just left her there alone and afraid,” she sobbed tearing her hands away from Lucien to press her palms against her eyes, “She was probably so scared. I’m supposed to protect her and I left her when she needed me.”

“She’s alright,” the emissary stated and crouched down in order to get eye level with her, “I was the one who went out after you and your guard returned to the manor. She was already making her way back. I personally escorted her the rest of the way.” He reached out for her to grab her shoulder and she shivered under his touch, “Your sister only had bumps and bruises.”

She cried in relief at the news her sister was alright. And by the sound of it her father hadn’t had time yet to punish Jamie which meant she’d have a chance to talk to her father and convince him not to do anything drastic. Here was no way Jamie could have known what was going to happen. 

“Why didn’t you winnow to get away from us?” Lucien asked her sounding genuinely curious.

“Because I can’t. I’m awful at it,” she answered him, suddenly his hands clamped down on her shoulders. Her eyes widened in alarm and she tried to pull away.

“You can’t winnow?” he asked her again giving her a slight shake.

“I already told you I’m awful, at most I can get across a room,” she replied, “Why does it matter if I can winnow or not? By the mother have you gone insane?” His sudden shift in mood from harsh interrogator to seeming concerned and curious was giving her whiplash.

“Are you left handed by any chance?” He asked her. His eye had taken on a strange light, and he looked suddenly excited, as if he’d just discovered something interesting.  
“Yes. Why does this matter?” She asked him not understanding the line of questioning.

“So when you write, especially in a rush you have a tendency to smear wet ink?” He continued with his odd line of questioning.

“Yes, it drove my tutors mad because I have to write very slowly all the time. I usually call a maid to write for me if I’m in a rush. I still don’t understand,” Leta continued as she stared at the court emissary. She felt slightly guilty now that she’d torn open his face if he’d been the one to make sure Iphigenia was safe.

“Who was it that responded to the letter of invitation here to the manor?” Lucien asked her.

“It was me. Father was busy with his medical practice so I responded in his place so the parlor maid wouldn’t disturb him. I’d taken my time to make sure that I didn’t smear the ink, I was fine up until I signed the bottom. Why are you asking me about how I go about writing letters? What are you going to do? Forge one to my sister?” She asked him wanting to get some answers herself.

“Did you bring any stationary with you on your trip here?” Lucien ignored her question.

“Why are you going to commission me to write a letter home?” she snipped getting very frustrated at this point. But Lucien just stared at her waiting for her reply, “Of course I didn’t bring any stationary. I came here with my entire family who would I have to write?”

“Do you normally put perfume on your stationary?” He asked her and she blushed very embarrassed now that she had in fact added perfume to the letter she’d sent the High Lord. It was a habit of hers that she’d had since she was little.

“Yes, I do normally add some perfume to my letters,” she admitted embarrassed and then rushed to explain herself, “But it’s only because you can send messages with flowers. So I usually choose a floral scented perfume that matches the message I’m trying to convey. It’s silly I know-”

“If you were to send a message, like a secret one. Would you by any chance use flowers?” Lucien interrupted and she had to think about it for a second.

“Well I mean probably. Not many people spend as much time as I do reading about flowers so even if you could figure out I was sending a message it would be hard to decipher it,” She answered, “Why are we talking about secret messages and letters? Is this about me being a spy?”

“No it’s about you not being a spy,” Lucien replied as he got to his feet and yanked Leta up with him, “I’m starting to believe you.”

“Why because I use perfume?” She asked him, “Look if this is some sort of trick it’s not going to work I’m not a spy!”

“I know, because our spy has to be able to winnow and be right handed. They also had to have had access to your father’s stationary, with hand writing that differed from what we received from your manor,” Lucien divulged, “I’m starting to believe you.”

“Starting?” Leta questioned.

“Well it is very clear that our spy is working with others. So you might not be the spy we’re aware of but an accomplice,” Lucien replied, “However, I’m starting to think we’ve been misled and jumped to some conclusions.”

“What exactly do I have to do in order to convince you I’m not a spy?” she asked him now getting eager at the idea of clearing her name. She was already planning what she’d do when she got home to Entwhistle manor.

“Of that I’m not sure,” Lucien answered her, bringing his fingers to his chin. It seemed he was already plotting what to do next, how to continue the investigation.

“Am I still going to be gutted by the High Lord in under an hour?” Leta asked him remembering suddenly about the time limit she’d been given. How was she supposed to prove she was innocent in less than an hour?

“Not unless you can help me, and come up with a plan to clear your name.” Lucien told her and she wanted to tell him that it was obvious she’d need to clear her name but that wouldn’t get her anywhere. But he did just help her come up with an idea.

“Well obviously you want me to tell you the whole truth of my visit here. What if I made something that would force me to tell the truth no matter what? A-a truth serum?” Leta asked him as she started to put together a plan.

“Does such a thing exist?” he asked her. She swallowed nervously because she was potentially about to lie to the court emissary. 

“I’ll need time to prepare it and access to your gardens and medical supplies to gather the ingredients,” Leta informed him, “I’ve never actually made this before. I know how to do it in theory not practice. But if I do this then you’ll believe me?”

“If it’s proven to work,” Lucien cautioned her.

She breathed in as her hands fisted by her sides, “Then let’s get started. I want to go home already. The first thing I’m going to need are lemons. Once I’ve extracted what I need from them I’m going to need urine. Get a stable boy to collect urine from the horses that will do.”

Lucien looked at her both appalled and disgusted, “What are you going to do with urine and apples? Don’t tell me you’re going to ingest it!”

“I need the urea from the urine, so no I’m not going to be drinking urine. As for what I’m doing with it I’m making barbituric acid and from there I’m making a barbiturate,” she informed him as her mind raced coming up with the equipment she’d need and what to do, “And while I do that you need to stall the High Lord for me. I’ve never done this before so I can’t afford interruption and I can’t give you a time estimate either.”

“Return to your room, prepare a list of what else you’ll need while I start getting ready,” Lucien informed her. He winnowed away right after that leaving her standing on the lawn alone.

She nodded to herself to work up her courage. Picking up her skirt she rushed back to her room. She glanced back up at the open window, if she could winnow this would be far easier. She didn’t know what to make of this rather rapid development with the Court Emissary. For now he seemed willing to trust her, but she could only trust herself to prove her innocence.

Her shoes clacked against the marble steps that lead up to the manor. The roses climbing the walls of the manor’s walls felt prickly and dangerous to her now. They were no longer beautiful and enticing. Her wrist throbbed painfully, and any attempt at a deep breath sent an electric current of pain through her thorax. Her dress was sticky and wet from the blood of her reopened wound. By the time she made it to the top of the marble stairs she was limping. She paused leaning over the banister panting heavily trying to catch her breath through the pain.

Wincing from the pain of her head, Leta realised that she hadn’t eaten anything. She probably hadn’t had anything to eat for days now either if she were unconscious. Her hands squeezed the marble railing. It took her several more moments than necessary to convince herself to keep moving forwards. She stumbled to the large oak doors and pushed them open. The elaborately carved oak doors swung open and she made her way to the grand stair case. Her head was still spinning from her hunger, pain and the stress of her situation.  
She’d lied to the Court Emissary. Technically barbiturates weren’t a truth serum. That wasn’t what they were used for intentionally. Her father made a variety of them for his clinic because they eased pain and relaxed nervous patients. However, they also put people in a highly suggestive state. And in such a state they could loosen the truth from someone. She’d seen it firsthand a number of times. From a courtier’s wife shamelessly describe all of her midnight trysts to the maids tending to her, the sedative having loosened her lips. To soldiers telling her of their war stories and the shameless things they did on the battlefield.

However, Leta had power that her father didn’t have. Her magic was weak but she could make potions imbued with her own magic. There was a possibility if she channeled her magic into the barbiturate with the intention of making it a truth serum then that would influence it to do what she wanted. If she miscalculated however, it could kill her if it didn’t loosen her lips.

She’d finally crossed the checkered foyer as she lifted her leg to climb the stairs she almost stumbled. If not for the large hand that clamped down on her elbow suddenly she’d have slipped and cracked her face against the stairs. She sucked in a breath worried that it was Tamlin or Lucien again.

“Careful!” a raspy voice cautioned her. Whoever it was helped her straighten up, “I take it that you’re Miss Entwhistle.”

The stranger chuckled to himself. She turned back towards them with narrowed eyes to examine whoever it was. It was one of the sentries, he had a leather baldric strapped across his chest. Unlike when Tamlin wore the assortment of knives, it made the stranger a source of comfort rather than fear. He wore a mossy green tunic that made his inky black hair seem darker. He stood just as tall as Tamlin. But was far scruffier than the High Lord. His jaw was coated in black stubble.

“And you are?” Leta asked, not sure if the sentry had been sent by Lucien or Tamlin. She hoped it was the former. 

“Andras.”

Leta stared at him not exactly sure how to respond to that. Was that his first name or his house name? She didn’t know a house by the name of Andras. But as a sentry his house might not have much popularity which might be why she doesn’t know it. Andras puffed out his chest.

“Lucien told me that you needed help. I didn’t know that he meant getting you to your room in one piece,” he teased her. She liked the familiarity he spoke to her. None of the servants in her house had the gall to do that. Even when she asked them to.

She smiled, “I fell out a window,” and she gestured to the growing blood stain on her side.

“I’ll be sure to keep you away from those then. Seeing as I am to guard you until you’re innocent or gutted. Though from what I’ve been told I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that for much longer,” his lips pulled back in a wide grin as he offered his hand to her.

“I’m fairly certain I will not be falling out of any windows until proven innocent or gutted,” she replied with a laugh as she shook his hand, “Though I’ve also been told that I could be torn limb from limb.” 

He winked at her and she smiled.

“Leta Astrea Entwhisle. You may call me Leta,” she felt an electric jolt course through her at her brazenness of going to first names so quickly.

“Andras Beauregard,” he replied, “Here I thought you’d be a nasty little bitch.”

Leta blinked, in all her life no one had called her a bitch to her face. She was fairly certain people had called her that behind her back. A thought she tried not to dwell on. But never in all her life had someone called her that. She liked the childish excitement that coursed through her.

“What with all the hollering and scratching up Lucien’s face and all. And well you come from one of those families if you know what I mean,” Andras laughed as he offered his arm to Leta. She accepted his arm and the two began to climb up the stairs. 

Her father never approved of the use of such language around her. She’d heard it of course. She grew up in a medical practice after all. But she was always hearing it from people in great pain or under great duress. Andras speaking so casually to her and not seeming to mind manners or that she was a lady was something new and refreshing. Not even Jamie saw her as an equal. 

Leta and Andras finally made it to the room that Leta had awoken in. Everything still in its place from when she’d thrown herself out the window. She glanced around wondering why she’d been put in such a masculine room.

“Is there a healer that can spare a moment to look me over?” Leta asked Andras, “I think I may have cracked a rib, and I’ll need help if any of my stitches have come loose.”  
She glanced up at him and he hummed as he thought, “I think we’ve got a healer we can spare.”

The way he said it seemed odd. But as of right now she had more pressing things to think about instead of his odd word choice. And it seemed he had other things on his mind too.  
“So you’ve got some sort of truth serum?” he asked her.

“Something like that,” she replied not wanting to trust her true plans to a stranger, “Can you get the healer?”

“Right that, on it,” Andras snapped to attention as if he’d forgotten he’d promised to get her one, “I almost forgot-I’m not supposed to leave you alone. I’ll have you stay here with a maid,” he went for the door and paused to look back at her, “Stay here away from the window.”

Leta snorted on a laugh as he strode out. As the dark haired sentry left the room it gave Leta time to think her plan through. Her eyes slid over to the mahogany desk that was larger than her father’s. However, despite its size it wasn’t anywhere near as intimidating as her father’s to approach. There was no trepidation to step near it. No uneasiness.   
She rooted around in the drawers extracting stationary. Soon enough she had kicked the chair aside to stand as she scribbled away. She fought back the cobwebs that had gathered in her mind over what she’d need to make a barbiturate. Her hand flew across the paper as she listed materials. The list was longer than she’d thought it would have been, but that was merely because she needed all of the equipment that would have already been available at home to do this. Her writing was a mess not just because of her rush but because she’d smeared the ink. Her tutor was probably trying to dig his way out of his coffin right now to rap her fingers. But her list would have to make do.

She set the list aside and then went to work on the math behind everything she’d be doing. This she’d need to take her time on and be careful. First balancing the chemical equation, then from there determining the mass of every reactant. Lastly she’d need to calculate the dosages. She’d already reminded herself of it a number of times, but once more that creeping thought slunk in. Her father tried to avoid using barbiturates for that reason. If her dosage was off it could kill. She hoped that with using her magic she would need only the smallest of doses to loosen her lips and prove she wasn’t a spy.

The door behind her opened and she listened as someone stepped in.

“Excellent, Andras. I’ve got a list of what I’ll need ready,” Leta chirped as she continued to scribble away through the numbers.

“I hope that I’ll do in his place,” a female voice stated behind her. Startled she let her hand swing across the page leaving a large dark slash in its wake that was promptly smudged. She turned around embarrassed. It was one of the maids dressed in a homespun brown dress. Her skin was the same texture of tree bark. A few shades darker than Leta’s own tawny skin. Her dark brown eyes were warm and welcoming.

“I apologise. I should have risen to greet you,” Leta apologised, “I suppose you are the maid that Andras was speaking of.” She stood to introduce herself and winced at the motion. 

The maid clucked at her appearance.

“Your poor dress.”

“I am quite upset about it as well,” Leta agreed as the maid sighed. She glanced down at the ruined dress. It was not a particular favourite of hers. But it was still made of expensive fabric. Something that someone like Alis could only dream of.

“It’s not completely lost though. How about you keep whatever you can salvage from it? I have many dresses, my wardrobe won’t suffer from the loss, but if you want some fabric to work with by all means take this,” she offered to the maid. It wasn’t the first time she’d made such a deal. She’d come up with it in her early teens out of selfish impulses. She cut deals like this with her maids to hide the fact a dress had gotten ruined in one way or another, rather than either party being upset about it being lost.

The maid seemed displeased with this and tried to reason with her, “Now miss-"

“No really take the dress and do whatever you want with it,” Leta insisted, “If I live I’m going to owe you my life for helping me. A gown is the least I could offer.”

The maid huffed not seeming impressed with Leta’s decision but she took the scribbled list anyways and tucked it away in a pocket of her apron. Leta blinked in surprise that the maid wasn’t rushing off to get what was on the list.

“Andras has asked that I don’t leave you alone,” the maid seemed to know the question Leta had not asked, “I’m Alis. I’m usually responsible for this wing of the manor so you’ll likely see me every day. Now, we’re going to need to get you out of that gown for the healer to take a proper look at you.”

“Pleasure to meet you Alis,” Leta smiled. 

Undressing proved to be more difficult that dressing even with a second set of hands. There was more bending and twisting involved with slipping a dress off than on. Alis eventually had enough of the ordeal. And Leta found her dress being cut off as the maid huffed that it was done for anyways. Leta reiterated that Alis could have the remains. The maid relented but it seemed it was only because she didn’t feel like arguing with Leta further.

The two of them eventually found that the most modest outfit Leta could wear that would allow easy examination and access to her wounds was a petticoat and brassier.  
Leta sat on the edge of her bed shivering and jittering. Alis was clucking her tongue at her. She’d grabbed a warm wet cloth from the bathroom and was gently dabbing at the bloodied wounds on Leta’s side. Leta fought as well as she could to stop herself from jerking in pain. The wound still oozed blood slightly but she knew it would stop soon.

To Leta’s dismay she had been proven right about her ribs being cracked. A large dark black and blue bruise spreading out over her rib cage. Despite the spring warmth Leta was covered in goosebumps, and she couldn’t stop shivering. Alis noticed this and handed Leta a dressing gown to slip on. The maid allowed Leta to squeeze her hand as they waited for the healer.

“It was brave what you did for your sister,” Alis whispered to her softly.

“Thank you,” Leta whispered back, “You’re the first person to tell me that.”

“I hope I’m not the last,” Alis whispered as she patted Leta’s knuckles. Leta smiled and sniffled. She wasn’t aware that she’d been crying until Alis reached up to brush the tears away, “A shame about your face though.”

Leta nodded her head. She didn’t know how to respond to that comment, she knew she’d have to get used to people telling her that. She was going to hear people tell her that for the rest of her life. But it still didn’t help guide her with how to respond. It seemed she didn’t have to because her thoughts were interrupted by the door to her room being banged open violently.

She jumped and gave a shriek. And she wasn’t alone either, Alis jumped to her feet immediately and bowed her head. Leta remained seated with her hands fisting in the bed sheets as she took in her new guest. He stood seething in the door way as he glared at her.

“I just want to make one thing clear to you,” Tamlin informed her with an accusatory finger pointed towards her, “Just because I’ve granted you extra time to prepare a case for yourself. It doesn’t mean I don’t suspect you any less, and it doesn’t mean I won’t gut you the second I can prove you’re a spy.”

Leta remained very still as she faced him down. An odd sort of calm had overcome her because she knew with a sudden certainty that he wouldn’t be able to follow through with his threat. One way or another she’d clear her name or she’d escape from here. The High Lord narrowed his eyes at her. His bravado evaporated. It seemed that her lack of response had torn the wind from his sails.

He trembled with rage and she watched the skin around his knuckles tighten and stretch. She knew why. Those claws she’d seen. Those terrible, awful claws that clacked along the marble floors wanted to tear through his skin to tear through hers. But instead he turned and left. 

Alis gasped and put her hand against her chest. Leta had no doubt the maid’s heart was racing just as hard as her own. Though the maid had far less of a reason to be afraid than Leta. She’d just have to witness Leta being gutted, not experience it firsthand. As the door was about to click shut following Tamlin’s departure it instead swung back.

Lucien slipped quietly into the room, silently shutting the door behind him. He pressed his back against the door as if to listen. He remained there for several long seconds. His eye slid over to Alis and he gave a nod of his head to her. The maid silently got up and left the room. That left Leta alone once again with the Court Emissary.

“Well I convinced him that you were going to prove your innocence and to stay his hand,” Lucien explained to her. His hair was coming loose from his pony tail in disarray. When he wasn’t speaking his jaw would clench and a muscle would feather in his jaw.

“Well I feel very safe,” Leta remarked, “He made me feel very spared just moments ago.”

Lucien winced and Leta felt bad about her comment. It seemed all she could manage to do was hurt Lucien one way or another. She’d have to work on that when she got the chance.

“You have to understand that he isn’t… he isn’t cruel,” Lucien stuttered out to her and Leta pressed her lips together. She tried her best to give a nod of understanding, “I can assure you that he means well. His heart is in the right place. It’s just he feels threatened and betrayed right now. He doesn’t know who he can trust besides very few of us. And Amarantha isn’t making the matter any easier, we unfortunately just received a letter from her just now.”

“I am afraid to ask what it was about,” Leta tentatively stated.

“It… it was about me,” Lucien admitted with a heavy sigh. His russet eye fixed itself on the ground, and one of his fingers reached up to brush the fabric covering his eye.

“Oh mother! I’m so sorry, that’s horrendous,” Leta breathed covering her mouth with her hands. It was just under a year ago that Amarantha had ripped Lucien’s eye from his face. Leta remembered all the nervous whispers and gossip from her maids that she had to silence because it was driving her mad. She still wasn’t sure about what exactly transpired since the story changed depending on who told it. But Leta knew for sure that Lucien had gone in Tamlin’s place to visit the general, and that things had turned sour and then became violent.

Lucien glanced up at the scars on Leta’s face. His jaw clenched, “I’ve grown accustomed to having my reputation being torn apart. Don’t worry about me. Anyways, she’s apparently regretful for ripping my eye out now, and wants to make amends.”

“It sounds like a trick to me,” Leta whispered softly unsure of how gently she needed to treat the situation. Lucien nodded his head in agreement with her, “But it sounds like you have no choice but to listen to her.”

“She’s got us cornered that’s for sure. But Tam, he wants to believe she really does feel bad for what she’d done to me. It doesn’t help that she claims she’s let go of her obsession with him as well,” Lucien sighed, he suddenly looked very tired and ragged. He still had the scratch marks on his cheek from Leta and she felt bad about hurting him now.

“You need to focus on this and not me,” Leta realised even as her stomach twisted with fear, “I won’t trouble you anymore with trying to clear my name. The court needs you to help Tamlin with this. Once I get the things from the list that I gave to Miss Alis I should be fine on my own.”

“I don’t think you will be,” Lucien told her honestly, “Anyways, I have some time to plot and scheme before I face Amarantha.”

“Why is that?” Leta asked him curiously.

“Because she doesn’t want to meet in person until the anniversary of what she did to me. She says she wants to hold a ball as a means to apologise.” Lucien informed her and glanced away from her. She pressed her lips together as she wrung her hands.

“If there is anything I can do to help just ask. After all, you saved my life today,” Leta’s cheeks grew red when her voice wavered betraying her fear.

“I might have just stayed Tamlin’s hand, but I will keep that in mind that I can call on you should I need it,” Lucien stated, “I didn’t think we’d become allies. Let alone so quickly.”  
She gave a weak laugh, “Neither did I. Especially since you seem to have been the one to suspect that I was the spy.”

He glanced away from her, “I was the one to suspect you, I’m sorry. I didn’t know who you were outside of your heritage and I let the observations that I had made in regard to you sway my judgement.”

“I don’t think I have the capacity to be a spy, but the characteristics you noted did seem to make me out to be one.” She comforted him, “I’ll do my best to prove to you that I am not a spy. In return if you need anything at all from myself or my family at all don’t hesitate.”

There was an abrupt knock on the door and they both glanced at it curiously. Another loud knock that to Leta sounded as if someone were kicking on the door.

“Excuse me, is Miss Entwhistle in there?” a husky male voice called out.

“Yes I’m here!” Leta responded and rushed to the door to open it knowing who it was waiting on the other side.

“Thank you,” the familiar High Fae said with a grin as he regarded her. Having seen him a second time Leta realised Andras was taller than the High Lord. His black hair made a great feathery mane that matched his beautiful amber eyes. Leta stumbled back from the door as he entered her room carrying a wooden desk in his large arms, “Alis showed me that list of yours. I know you’ve probably already got a desk but with the amount of shit you’re going to need I figured you’d need a second one.”

“Andras please watch your language around our guest,” Lucien exasperatedly sighed. Leta wished she had the brazenness to reply that she didn’t honestly mind.

“Guest? I thought she stood as one of the accused?” Andras asked confused and Lucien coughed it seemed they wasn’t supposed to reveal that information to Leta.

“I am accused, but I can assure you I am innocent,” she told Andras, and then turned to Lucien with her eyes narrowing, “But it sounds like I’m not the only one it seems. I think I have a guess at who else is accused. My father isn’t it? That’s why he hasn’t returned home, why I haven’t seen him.”

Both of the men fell silent. Neither seemed to have it in them to look at her. She sighed and shook her head, “I hope for your sake that you’re better at hiding information from the actual spies.”

“I hope so as well,” Lucien agreed with her grimly, “We were doing our best to be discrete but it seems we’ve failed at that. Fortunately you’ve been the one we’ve had the most contact with so maybe we haven’t erred so egregiously yet.”

“I just want to say that I didn’t know what I was and wasn’t allowed to say around her,” Andras said playfully in defence of himself as he scratched his scraggly chin, “I was just told to keep her away from windows.” 

Leta bowed her head to hide the smile that spread across her face. It seemed like Andras wasn’t letting that go any time now.

“Well you only have to worry about windows until I’m proven innocent or gutted,” she replied with a laugh, “Though I’ve also been told that I could be torn limb from limb.”   
Lucien cleared his throat, it seemed he didn’t find the humor in the situation that Leta and her new guard did.

“But with this serum you’re making it should prevent that from happening yes?” he pressed her. She nodded her head nervously at him in response, “We’re going to need a means of testing it as well. I was thinking we might use it on your father in order to garner a confession from him. Will that be complicating things for you?”

“It seems my opinion doesn’t matter much as you were originally going to use it on him without my knowledge. Anyways, I think this should serve as motivation for me to create this serum. What daughter wouldn’t want to prove her father’s innocence?” she answered, both men nodded but neither was able to hide the tightening of their jaw. Leta’s heart sank. It seemed her father may actually be the spy.


	4. Chapter 4

Lucien could see the growing disappointment on Leta’s face. She wasn’t all that good at masking her emotions. It seemed he really could have misjudged her. Either that or she was an extremely talented liar. He would give her this chance to prove herself, and if she failed then he’d personally deal out her punishment.

However, he was going to have to interrogate her father again. If Leta had told the truth, then Entwhistle had lied the last time they’d questioned him. Lucien had his doubts based off of some of Lord Entwhistle’s confessions. Now it seemed his distrust was well founded. The physician had been the one that first accused his own step daughter. Had claimed that she’d written the letters Lucien had found in their belongings. Incriminating letters with massive amounts of details that could cripple the Spring Court if they got out. Despite the fact that Entwhistle had provided well founded pieces of evidence to incriminate his daughter, it was odd the ease he had in condemning her. As if he’d been waiting for the moment to do so. It was too calculated to have been the sudden discovery Entwhiste claimed it was.

There was also the fact that Leta didn’t match the profiles of the other spies. Almost all of their healers had proven to be traitors, and a number of courtiers. All had been close to Tamlin’s father, with personal connections to Amarantha. Leta was the only one who hadn’t been alive during the war accused of being a spy. 

He hoped the risk he’d taken today to allow her to prove her innocence would be worth it. 

Despite his slip of the tongue, Andras could be trusted to keep a close watch on her. Honour and being true to his word meant everything to Andras, he wouldn’t fail his duties. And just to be extra sure Lucien also assigned Alis to the task of tending to this wing of the castle, the maid well aware of who it was she was tending to. 

Tabatha had been the only one that Lucien hadn’t planned on dragging into this. But he could trust the healer, she’d more than proven herself loyal to Tamlin since the naga attack. Lucien had left Leta’s chambers before the healer had arrived. He had no doubt that Tabatha was willing to help despite being overwhelmed with work. 

Presently Lucien needed to leave for the dungeons and fast. Although he’d told Leta that he had time to spare for her it was more so to comfort her than make a promise. Amarantha’s declaration of a reconciliation so soon after the discovery of a large network of spies working for her was big enough on its own. But he also had the matter contacting all the other courts to alert them of this, which also meant facing his own family. 

Hopefully, someone other than a relative would be the one he’d have to speak with. If luck favored him then Moros, the Autumn Court advisor, would take interest and he’d be the one that Lucien would deal with. He could handle Moros at the moment. Eris or his father he couldn’t handle.

If that weren’t enough, Tamlin was calling for a meeting to discuss guard rotations and better securing the court. Even if they weren’t expecting a naga attack, they should have been better prepared. A naga shouldn’t have been on the manor property and now the whole court felt like it was compromised. What else was roaming their lands?

Lastly there was Tamlin himself to deal with. His temper had been on edge since the naga incident. And although Lucien couldn’t really fault Tamlin for being overwhelmed right now threatening physical punishment left and right of everyone for any inconvenience was not exactly tolerated.

Lucien’s trail of thoughts were broken as he swept down the stairs to the basement of the manor. The dungeons of the Spring Manor were well-hidden to prevent escape. And the design was also so that they would not to take away from the beauty of the rest of the manor. It had been a request from Tamlin’s mother or so Lucien had been told. 

She did not like to see suffering, Lucien would have preferred if she hadn’t condoned it at all. 

He used the key stone that Tamlin had given him to open the secret door. He watched the stones shift and turn to roll aside. Such technology had been a gift from the Court of Sands. High Lord Kaseem had gifted it to Arthfael, Tamlin’s father, just before the start of the war five hundred years ago. Apparently Arthfael would sell those who couldn’t pay the tithe to Kaseem as slaves, in return Kaseem shared his people’s technologies. 

A spiraling staircase that disappeared into a pool of darkness yawned open before him. He reached into the bucket in front him and withdrew an unlit torch, he raised it close to the one flaring at the top of the stairs. Once the flame caught he began to trek down the curling stairs. His feet clacking against the stones, echoing back at him in the tight confined space. The air was stale and dead, it did not move down there. The stairs went on and on, further into the heart of the earth. It felt like walking down into a tomb.

There were no windows to the outside down here, the only light came from the torches placed in between each of the cells. The sentinels that had been assigned watch stirred. Their weapons clanged against each other or the metal bars of the cages. The prisoners stirred. Some shifting on their bunks, a few curious ones came to the bars to investigate.

Lucien glanced at each familiar face behind them. He was used to betrayal and lies. His entire time in the Autumn Court had been nothing but betrayal and lies. Still, some of the accused had come as a surprise until they managed to find condemning evidence. The fact that these cells which had remained empty for the entirety of his stay at the manor were now in use made his heart heavy with grief.  
Lord Entwhistle had been kept at the very back, among the first convicted of treachery for the condemning letter found with the naga’s body. The fair skinned doctor glanced up at Lucien with a disappointed frown. He looked nothing like either of his daughters, even the one connected to him by blood. 

“What now?” the physician complained to him, “Has that deceitful brat finally awoken?”

“Yes, your step daughter has finally awoken from the spell that our court physician applied on her. I didn’t have the time to gather any evidence from her. Not even a chance of a confession,” Lucien replied narrowing his eye on Entwhistle to gauge his reaction. 

“Evidence? You have all the evidence you need! The notes and letters hidden in her trunks, the Hybernian contraband you found stashed in her drawers. Not to mention everything I’ve told you that she’d done,” the older man huffed, “She’s probably the worst of us all. If any of us should be executed for what we’ve done it should be her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she turned out to be the ring leader of this whole operation.”

It seemed father and daughter did not share the same level of attachment towards one another. Leta had had faith in her father’s innocence, seemed determined to prove it. The sentiment was not returned. But was that enough to be condemning evidence was the question Lucien was left to ruminate over.

“Tamlin gutted her, not long after she awoke,” Lucien lied as easily as he drew a breath, “We barely got a word out of her. Most of it was confused gibberish.”

“Is that so?” Her father mused, “Serves her right! If it weren’t for her mistakes I wouldn’t be here. It was her idea to get involved in the first place. She’s the one who convinced me to do everything. She idolized that Hybernian general, worshipped her like a queen.”

“Behaviour you should have stopped before it escalated. Look at where it’s gotten you indulging her like that,” Lucien critiqued with a tut. He stared down his nose at the dishonored doctor before him. His eye narrowed looking for any obvious tells that the man was lying.

“What was I supposed to do? My work keeps me away from my daughters. By the time I realized what my step daughter had gotten into it was far too late to simply nip it in the bud. The life of my own daughter was at risk at that point! You have to understand I was forced into it. If I didn’t do what I did they would have killed my daughter,” Entwhistle explained his brow slick with sweat.   
“So you were trying to protect Leta?” Lucien asked though he knew what daughter Entwhistle was actually referring to and didn’t need clarification.

“No, I was trying to protect Iphegina. Leta has been a lost cause long before this whole spy nonsense. You have to understand; she’s a troublesome daughter. I’ve struggled trying to find someone willing to take her as a bride. I swear she’d got too much of that foreign sand monger father of hers in her,” the physician huffed angrily as he pulled out a handkerchief and swiped his brow. 

Lucien didn’t let it show on his face but even though he wasn’t exactly fond of the Court of Sands he’d never refer to them in such a way. Especially not with how they’d recently begun to mend their old ways with the new High Lord on the throne. The fact he’d allowed Leta’s heritage sway his opinion of her now turned his stomach sour.

“Curse that girl for getting me into this.” Her father muttered angrily. Lucien could easily imagine Beron behaving like this about him. Using him as a scape goat whether or not Lucien had actually committed the crime. His own father wouldn’t even need to think twice about it.

Quickly Lucien scolded himself for making that comparison. He couldn’t afford to get emotional or make this personal. He needed to remain objective.

“You should have turned Leta into us then before you got so entrenched in all of this. The High Lord wants to see you killed for what you’ve done. We would have seen to it that your youngest was well protected,” Lucien replied eyeing the other cells, “I’ve suspected some of these individuals for a while now. I understand why you were afraid. But we would have protected you.”

“I can see that now with how you’ve got Iphegenia cooped up in our estate by herself,” the doctor sniffed at him indignantly as he shoved his kerchief away, “I can’t believe you wasted my time and effort in healing Leta if you were just going to kill her anyways. After all I heard she brandished a knife at the High Lord himself.”

“One you forgot to take away from her,” Lucien quickly reminded him. 

“Because she’s carried the damn thing with her everywhere she went since her mother died! She’s never used it. I just assumed she had no idea how to wield it,” Entwhistle explained angrily, “As for her mother, she only ever used it as a looking glass. I always thought the blade was dull. Just for show and such. Isn’t it?”

“Oh yes, it most certainly is. I’ve got it in my room now.” Lucien admitted, “But a dull blade can still kill. You should have confiscated it, or were you hoping she’d kill the High Lord?”

“She couldn’t kill a fly,” her father grumbled.

“Only nagas then?” Lucien quipped raising a brow, “I do believe you’re awful at estimating what your eldest is capable of. Either that or you’re a very terrible liar. She mentioned that by the way, that you’re awful at telling lies. And I think I can see right through you.”

Her father was getting more riled up. It was exactly what Lucien wanted. Make him mad, it’ll make him stupid he told himself while also remembering to keep his own head cool.

“She is not my eldest child, merely a step daughter. An unwanted inheritance from her late mother,” Entwhistle spat, “And it’s not that I’m underestimating her. It’s that she’s a mastermind. A master of manipulation and lying. You did the right thing killing her after you got a confession out of her.”

“Well you see that’s the thing, I did get a confession out of her before she died,” Lucien smirked, “I’ve recently got my hands on a truth serum. I only had enough for a single test right now, but fairly soon I’ll have more. I forced her to drink it, she told me all about the naga attack. After that things got muddled and confusing. Seems I gave her too much. Tamlin gutting her probably did her a favour from dying a slow and miserable death from what I gave her.”

“A truth serum?” the doctor asked nervously, “Is there even such a thing?”

“Yes, I stumbled upon the crafter by accident. They’re still perfecting it, and they need to make more. But there’s no way to fight it, it’ll force you to tell us everything,” Lucien assured the man, “In due time it’ll be your turn to confess everything you’ve done. I suggest if you want a more lenient sentencing you confess sooner rather than later and of your own accord.”

“I’ve told you everything I can,” he insisted, “I assume all that screaming from earlier and that loud thud was Leta.”

“Tamlin threw her through a window,” Lucien supplied. Never had he been more grateful for his Autumn Court upbringing. In the Spring Court being able to lie as easily as breathing did little to help with survival. But for these interrogations it worked wonders. He was also well aware that many of the other accused spies were listening in intently. They knew all about what he just said. Now it was his turn to sit back and listen to what they said. 

“Beastly, like the both of them,” Entwhistle muttered to himself. Lucien caught the man in a critical stare. His stay at Entwhistle manor following his injury had been short, and he’d spent most of it barely conscious. However, the doctor had been as tactless then as he was now. Lucien still remembered the few things the doctor had let slip when he’d thought Lucien had been unconscious. None of them were kind remarks towards the Court Emissary. Lucien had brushed it off then, used to slander against himself. Now he was cursing himself for not seeing the bigger picture. 

Thinking back to his time at that manor brought with it other memories that Lucien had fought to keep at bay. Most concerning Amarantha but there was one concerning Eris. And it made Lucien imagine how Eris would mock Lucien right now for letting so many spies run amuck in the court, and be uncertain of one little girl. Eris would know if Leta were a spy, he wouldn’t need silly little interrogations or truth serums. Just another mark for Lucien to tick in his long mental list of inferiorities to his eldest brother.

“You monster letting him butcher that little girl,” spat one of the healers. 

“She’s a half breed what does it matter?” argued another, “It’s not like she’s worth much more than a good solid fuck, or marrying for an inheritance. Not even good enough for breeding.” The other fae in the cell chuckled and the first muttered something under his breath in agreement.

Lucien frowned disgusted with them.

“Well it’s not like he’s any better,” Another one piped up as they gestured at Lucien, “Probably disposed of her so callously to make himself look better. He’s probably afraid the High Lord will turn on him. After all he’s already betrayed one court who’s to say he wouldn’t do another?”

He wanted to turn on whichever one of them said that. But he knew that wouldn’t help his case. Eris for all his faults was excellent at teaching Luicen. In particular teaching interrogation methods. And getting mad was a hindrance not an advantage, so was punishing too aggressively. 

Lucien, remember to never go too far with torture, never let your temper get the best of you, go too far and a man will never open his mouth. Eris’ voice echoed in his mind. If he got to aggressive and rough with the prisoners he wouldn’t get anything out of them. Eris called it breaking a man. Ophios and Daiphron broke more men then they managed to wrangle information from. Tamlin wasn’t far behind Lucien’s brothers. That was why Lucien was heading this and not the High Lord.

Lucien kept his composure, he couldn’t let them get to him. He swallowed it down, there would be a time and a place to let his anger out. Perhaps on the training fields, on a hunt, maybe even as he wrote his response to Amarantha.

“It’s not like we even know who the ring leader is. We all relied on the naga to pass messages between us. Whose to say the traitor isn’t our leader?” It was Teresa Harthbeck. She had been the head healer of the Spring Manor for generations. Her long grey hair captured in an intricate braid. Her betrayal had stunned him, she’d always been a pacifist and had coddled Tamlin when he was a child. She was a nurturer as well as a healer. Lucien wondered how Amarantha had coerced her to work for Hybern.

Her dark eyes that were buried under many folds of papery skin glared at him, “What a way to cover your own guilt by uprooting the whole network. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were weeded out to establish a new group.”

“I’m not a spy,” he said with cool confidence. He thought back to Leta’s defences and pleads earlier in the day. Her screams, cries, shrieks and yells. The tears on her face, the raw emotion at denying the claim. Did it make her innocent or guilty? Was all the emotion behind her denials because she was lying? Or was it merely because of the fact Lucien wasn’t the one caught in a prison. He wanted her to be innocent. He just wanted one of the accused to be innocent. One less head to take. One less betrayal. He didn’t want to be judge or executioner.

“In the last message I received from Amarantha, she said she’d make you pay,” Harthbeck told him her face dark and grim. She was sitting on the floor of her cell, having given her bed over to her cell mate. Lucien shrugged it off. Amarantha could try but whether she succeeded or not didn’t matter so as long as Tamlin was unharmed and the court could still function.

He decided to leave the dark dank dungeon behind. Sick of the stale air and the weight of the earth upon him. He was suddenly aware of the hundred if not thousands of pounds of earth and rock above his head simply held there by magic older than himself. The Wall was ancient and falling apart, it was made by a number of fae and humans. This dungeon was carved by the will of a single High Lord, and one who went insane. The fact that Tamlin had faith in it not falling on any of their heads made Lucien uneasy.

He clambered up the stairs trying his best to control his pace. He didn’t want the prisoners or the sentries to see him unnerved. At the top of the stairs he extinguished his torch and returned it to the rack for someone else to use. He used the keystone again. It glowed faintly in the darkness and his hands knew where to blindly grope to find the slot to insert it. The earth rumbled and moved aside to allow him back into the manor.

He took in a welcome gasp of fresh air. His eyes fluttered shut as the comforting smells of spring filled his nose. The Autumn Court didn’t smell. Well it did, it smelled of rotting leaves and plants ready for harvest. At times it smelled like pumpkins and cinnamon. None of those smells were comforting or relaxing, at least to Lucien. But here in Spring Court with all the plant life there was a myriad of smells and scents. His nose never grew bored.

“Lucien!” 

The sudden call of his name jerked him from his thoughts. He turned to see one of the sentries approaching him. It was Murtagh, one of Andras’ close friends. Lucien didn’t know the sentry very well personally, having really only interacted with him during border patrols and sentry meetings. But Andras only had good things to say about the young man. They’d come from the same township, had both lied about their ages to enlist in the war and made fast friends with Tamlin. Both had remained loyal companions and skilled sentries ever since.

Murtagh stood taller and brawnier than Andras with windblown brown hair. His beard just barely covered a scar that ran from the corner of his jaw to his ear. A curved claw of a naga ran through one of his ears as a decoration.

The sentry smiled broadly as he approached. On his back rested a large axe, “I just got word from my wife, Josie. Real sweet gal, she makes the best apple pies-”

“Murtagh, I apologise but I’ve a lot to do,” Lucien interrupted and watched the sentry’s face fall. It quickly recovered with another smile.

“Well you see, she was just telling me that we’re having a baby! I got the letter this morning in the mail. Her ma’s heading over to help her get the house ready. Ma Clarkson is a tough woman no doubt, she’s also got the best ale in Applebutton Township-I’m getting distracted again,” Murtagh rambled and scratched at his head. 

According to Andras, Murtagh had taken a war hammer to the head during the war to protect Tamlin. Apparently a Prythian general had been targeting the youngest son of Arthfael. And had tried to strike him down from behind. His blow cracked through Murtagh’s shield and his skull. His shaggy brown hair covered the scar, but his rambling and distractedness did not. He kept his sweet demeanor and ability to fight, but the poor sentry had a short attention span and bad memory ever since.

“Where was I going with this?” his fingers seemed to be trying to pluck at his own brain through the scar, “Ah right. Well I was wondering if I could go to Applebutton to be with Josie. I know the timing isn’t the best with what’s going on. But Applebutton is just a hop and a skip from the Mountain passages and the borders. I figured with everything going down you could use me at the border bashing in naga brains.”

Lucien paused, it was true, the Spring Manor really couldn’t afford to be spreading the sentries thin. It was all hands on deck right now. However, it was also important they keep eyes on the border, especially considering the naga incident. Murtagh was too nice, and a bit too dumb to handle interrogations. But border patrol, he could handle that. Lucien had been on enough patrols with Murtagh to know he had some of the best ears and eyes for patrolling and tracking. Nothing would get past Murtagh, and if it tried it’d get hacked to death by his axe.

“You may set off for Applebutton so as long as you’re still serving as a sentry. If we manage to resolve matters here at the Manor I’ll contact you, so that you may go be with your wife.” Lucien told Murtagh, “But as of right now we need every sentry we can spare. If there’s anything amiss up there send word back. I believe we’ve got a scout or two and some trainees in Applebutton.”

He watched Murtagh light up. His big brown eyes flaring up with happiness as a big grin stretched across his face. It was hard to believe that Tamlin turned this fae into a wolf when he clearly should be a large friendly dog.

“You’re the best Lucien!” Murtagh announced, “I’ll send word as soon as I reach Applebutton.”

The sentry gave him a bow and set off. Lucien almost but not quite chuckled at the excited whoop Murtagh released when he rounded the corner and wrongly assumed he was out of Lucien’s range of hearing. Perhaps the levity was what he needed right now. 

Lucien needed a minute to reorient and remind himself of what he had been on his way to do. He set off for his room needing to write letters to the other courts. As he climbed up the stairs Tabatha was coming down them.

“Oh Lucien!” she exclaimed. She held her apron up and it was full of bloodied bandages and medical supplies. She must have come from tending to Leta. One less thing for Lucien to worry about, “Miss Entwhistle is alright! I fixed all the stitches that popped, she helped me clean the wounds and apply some poultices to them. As for her cracked ribs I couldn’t do much other than apply a cooling pack.”

“Oh that reminds me, we’ll have to ask someone to make more. I’m the only healer; I don’t want to stretch my magic to just be making cooling packs when there’s so much to do. Maybe we could ask the nymphs of the springs, I hear they have stones that stay cool for several hours once taken from the water,” The young healer remarked as she wiped sweat from her brow.

“I’m not sure. I want to help Tabatha but I’ve got a lot right now,” Lucien admitted his a sigh as he rubbed his temples. A migraine was coming on and he wanted nothing more than a good deal of wine to get drunk on, “And whatever you do right now stay away from Tamlin,” Lucien lowered his voice afraid he’d be overheard, “he’s in a mood.”

Tabatha nodded in understanding with an exasperated sigh. She’d been Teresa’s student, just as sweet and nurturing as her mentor. She’d cried for days upon finding out about Teresa’s betrayal. Teresa had made it clear that Tabatha wasn’t a spy, and had hid it all from her. Lucien knew Tabatha, poor girl couldn’t lie to save her life. He knew all of her tells. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body, and to be honest she wasn’t good at politics or history.

“If you’ve got a migraine I’ve got a tincture for that,” she offered him, “Make sure you’re eating and getting your sleep Lucien. We need you now more than ever.”

“I could say the same to you,” he replied with a ghost of a grin on his face. 

The healer smiled at him. Her sandy brown hair braided behind her head beautifully. She came from the prefecture that Entwhistle presided over. However, she hailed from a small town on the border of the prefecture and had never met Lord Entwhistle or his daughters. Lucien wondered briefly what Tabatha had thought of Leta. 

“Take care Lucien,” Tabatha stated as she continued down the stairs. Her yellow slippers softly clacking against the marble of the stairs. They matched her pastel green dress decorated with little yellow flowers. Lucien continued up the steps to his room and collapsed in his large plush desk chair.

He slumped and rubbed his eye. Perhaps he should have asked for that tincture. He could feel the muscles in his scalp tensing which was not helping the throbbing sensation running through his head. He sat there for several long minutes hoping that the pain would recede. When it didn’t he glanced up at the task ahead of him.

His desk was a large thing made of mahogany. Each drawer had some sort of engraving on it. The handles were crystalline. He had to be careful with them. Alis had been on him more than once about shattering them. He rooted through his drawers that he realized he’d have to organize sooner rather than later.

That was one of his signs, one of his ticks that he was slipping into a dark pit he’d rather not fall back into. His room became messy, that’s usually how it started. His desk would be messy or he’d be too lazy to clean up after himself. Then his meal schedules would get disturbed. His diet would be all over the place. He’d sleep too much or too little. And soon everything would be in disarray. 

When he had a moment to just breathe he’d clean his desk. Cleaning his desk would clean and organize his thoughts. Set him on the right track. Give him the footing he needed to climb out of the hole he was slipping down into. He groaned thinking about all the work ahead of him. It would be a very long time before he’d get a chance to thoroughly clean his desk.


	5. Chapter 5

Lucien glanced at the candle that was sputtering on his desk. It had held out just long enough for him to write his letters to the other seasonal courts. He’d started with Summer and then Winter. After slipping down to the kitchen for what was supposed to be a glass of wine that quickly turned into several he penned his letter to the Autumn Court. 

That was a lie, he penned several letters. He planned to read through them all in the morning and decide which one he wanted to send. If he knew who would receive the letter it would make the task far easier. Beron, Eris and Moros were all very different. Appealing to one of them alone was a challenge in and of itself but all three at once was nigh on impossible.

By far Eris would be the hardest of the three to appeal to. Moros was as slippery as an eel but in a good mood he’d help anyone out, or if he thought things would be entertaining he’d help. In a bad mood, Moros would come and watch the suffering for his own satisfaction. If Beron could make the Spring Court indebted to him, he’d do it just to have something to hold over Tamlin and Lucien’s heads. Eris however, was like trying to plead to an indifferent deity. He didn’t care much about the suffering of those below him and was too distracted with how his dominion was running in his favour. To get Eris to do something for you, you had to do something much grander for him first.

Lucien for his part had done his best to appeal to all three in some of the letters. A few were directed specifically at one or two of them. He hoped that whichever he chose would be the one to get the Autumn Court to listen.

He pushed off from his desk and got to his feet. Yawning he snatched up the letters to Summer and Winter. He told himself that in the morning he’d draft something for Dawn and Day. Fuck the Night Court, someone else can message them he thought. At this point Lucien had had enough of trying to appease difficult parties. And he’d rather not strain himself trying to appeal to that bastard Rhysand and his band of merry murderous maniacs. 

He stepped out into the hall, and glanced down the opposite direction of where he wanted to go. Leta’s room was that way. He’d made sure to put himself between her and escape. She wouldn’t get past him; and if she tried the knife he’d taken off of her would be reunited with its’ master. Andras was nodding off in a large chair that was pulled up against the door to her room. He waved at Lucien and gave a nod of his head, reaching down for the mug of coffee by his feet. Lucien pitied Andras, the sentry deserved a nice break when all of this was sorted out. Poor Andras had been the one sent to round up the traitors; had to fight most of them and kill a few who resisted. Then when he returned he had to keep watch over Leta.

Lucien continued to trot down the halls and out of the Manor. Even during the night there was a skeleton crew that shuffled about performing tasks. The nights in the Spring Court were cool, sometimes like today, if Tamlin were in a bad mood it would be slightly frigid. A bit of frost would coat the grass as if winter was fading into spring. Lucien shivered and wrapped his arms around himself to keep away the chill as he made his way over to the pigeon post.

Although by all accounts it was the pigeon post, because it housed all of the birds they used for sending messages Lucien felt the grand enormity of it should make it an aviary instead. Since the Spring Court was always warm, sunny, and very rarely ever rained it consisted of a number of large interconnected cages housing the myriad of birds. There was a vast assortment of birds for sending different messages to different areas. Homing pigeons for more temperate locations, mainly within the court. Then ravens, the very smartest of the birds, for more difficult deliveries. A few snowy owls for delivery to the Winter Court. One of the cages contained birds the likes of which Lucien hadn’t seen until he came to the Spring Court. Beautiful fierce things whose feathers were like jewels, those were for the Summer Court though Andras mentioned they’d been used for the Court of Sands as well. 

A few of the cages were merely birds for decorations sake, one of the cages large enough to be a miniature garden in and of itself. Once or twice Lucien had taken lunch there, though he had to be mindful of the birds flying overhead. A lesson he learned the hard way.

He explained to the sleepy young boy tending to the birds what he needed. The boy was quick to wake up and dash off to follow orders. Lucien waited patiently at the large door to the cages studying the birds that were flitting from perch to perch.

“Excuse me sir,” the boy huffed out of breath from sprinting to his office and back, “You said you were only sending messages to the Winter and Summer courts, but I’ve got a letter for Autumn too.”  
“Let me see it,” Lucien stated holding his hand out. The boy deposited the small scroll into his hand and he glanced over his own writing quickly. It was one of the letters he was considering. If Moros was the one to receive it he’d respond to this. This is precisely the sort of business the advisor would shove his nose into Lucien thought as he made up his mind.

“I misspoke earlier. Fetch a bird for Autumn Court as well,” he ordered and the boy set off. He did as told, preparing the three birds for flight. Lucien watched as they flew off in a flurry of feathers and squawks. Their small silhouettes quickly faded into the evening gloom. He stood for longer than necessary staring after them before thanking the stable boy. 

He had nothing to do now other than to go to sleep. He returned to his chambers, pretending he didn’t see Andras asleep on watch. He collapsed on top of his bed lazily kicking off his trousers and pulling his tunic up over his head. He told himself he’d just lie there for a few seconds before getting changed but he fell asleep before he could keep his promise to himself.

He awoke with a start in the morning remember his brash decision from the night before, choosing a letter specifically directed at winning over Moros. He immediately put his head in his hands and debated ripping his hair out from the roots. Fickle hearted Moros. Why of the three people he was deciding between did he choose Moros?

Because you still like to tell yourself he’s your friend, you damned fool! He scolded himself.

He was quickly trying to think his way out of it. They’d used a mere homing pigeon to deliver the message. It was currently flying off in the same direction that Murtagh was headed in. Perhaps I should tell him to kill every single pigeon he comes across on his way Lucien growled to himself as he pressed his thumbs into his temples. His head was throbbing and painful. We could send an eagle out after it, the eagle will kill it and then send a raven with a different letter.

Just as he was trying to come up with a third option there was a knock on his door.

“Excuse me? Mister Vanserra?” he was growing familiar with that voice. Before he could respond the door banged open with a thud. The same girlish voice gave a surprised squeak and he glanced over at the Entwhistle girl who had been wise enough to cover her eyes after Andras had abruptly thrown open Lucien’s bed room door.

He was still in his clothes from the day before, having been caught quite unprepared. And it wasn’t even the full outfit at that. He was only dressed in his under clothes. Definitely not the sort of thing for a young, proper lady to catch him in. However, Andras was in a hastily thrown together outfit, as if he’d only had a moment’s notice and time to change. The only member of the trio who looked fully awake and put together was Leta. Dressed in a fresh gown with a somewhat deranged sort of braid containing her silvery hair.

“Is he awake? Is he dressed?” Leta hissed at Andras with her hands still over her eyes. Her face was bright red with an embarrassed blush. At least one of the three of them had any sense of proper manners befitting their titles.

Lucien quickly threw his covers over himself, “I am decent.”

She heaved a sigh of relief and removed her hands. She stared at him with worry. She reminded him of a small child who’d either done something very wrong or was contemplating something very wrong and was testing their parents’ sternness. Her cheeks were bright red and her hands were worriedly wringing a kerchief.

“I’ve been thinking about my interrogation. I’ve thought of it long and hard and there are some things that I believe we need to prepare for,” she announced with a quivering voice. She sounded terrified and Lucien didn’t blame her. 

To a human’s eyes they’d appear to be the same age. However, even though both were older than the humans they’d be compared to, there was a large gap between them. She was still very close to being just a child, an immature and naive debutante. There were centuries between them. And she’d been born in the Spring Court during a time of peace. She didn’t know fear. But her attempt to remain brave was admirable.

She swallowed and gave a very harsh twist of the kerchief. Lucien watched her knuckles turn white and her hands turn as red as her flushed cheeks.

“I want ash nails to be prepared for the interrogation,” she stated with her quivering voice.

“And why is that?” he asked her.

“Because, if my serum fails you can drive the nails through my hands and feet, then my arms and legs. I think that would make anyone tell the truth,” she explained to him. For just a second her sentence echoed but not from her mouth but Eris’. He had to blink away the image of his brother standing behind the girl. That would absolutely be something Eris would do, drive nails into someone’s hands if he felt they were lying.

“Ask me each question three times, and if my answer doesn’t appease you three times over drive a nail into me,” her grip on the kerchief relaxed slightly, “It’s… it’s from the tale of Yvainne and Thorne.”  
He blinked for a moment trying to process the last bit, and shake off the thoughts of his brother suddenly possessing the small girl in front of him. Suddenly it clicked, he knew of the story she referred to. It was a very old and ancient one that was shared among the courts of Prythian. In the Autumn Court there was a heavy tome with that story, as well as several others. It had been his escape for most of his childhood. It had to have been someone else’s because there were detailed hand written notes in all of the columns. He’d adored those notes crammed into the margins. Those thoughts and ideas had been just as much of an escape as the book.

“I know the tale,” he agreed as he shook off the memories, “Why have you made this request?”

“Because I doubt myself,” she admitted, “I’ve never done something like this. And under such pressure I’m afraid of failure.”

“What have you done wrong?” He asked her sternly. The very last thing he needed on the already disastrous start of the morning was to find out that the serum she’d promised to make him was all poppycock and just a bid to extend her life.

“I’ve done nothing wrong yet, at least nothing that I’m aware of. I finished the last of the math and wrote out a procedure for myself. Then this morning I was setting out all of my tools and equipment,” that all sounded good so far. She had a plan and was following through with it meticulously, “… and I just grew afraid. I don’t know if I can trust myself.”

“If you can’t trust yourself then I cannot trust you.” He informed her sternly giving her a scowl.

He watched her pause. Her breathing stood still and she stared at him for several long unblinking seconds.

“I have some urine that I need to collect then.”

Andras clapped a hand on her shoulder and gave her a reassuring nod of his head. His amber eyes darted over to Lucien’s lone russet one. The sentry gave another nod to Lucien. He seemed to have faith in the doctor’s daughter and that was a good thing. Lucien could trust Andras’ judgement as much as his own.

His bedroom doors closed and he quickly stripped off his underclothes from yesterday and dressed himself. He raced down the stairs to go and speak with the staff of the pigeon post. Hopefully someone more senior than the boy who serviced him last night would be there; someone who’d know how to fix his mistake. He was going through his mind the possible ways to explain the situation and his mistake.

He was in the foyer of the Spring Manor when it happened. All at once his hair stood on end and the air crackled. He froze, Andras and Leta who’d just made it to the door froze and so did all of the servants. The air temperature rose and rose and rose. The air began to smell of magic, it was so potent and rich that Lucien could taste iron on his tongue. Andras shoved Leta behind him and went for his sword. Servants flocked in front of Lucien to act as cannon fodder. A few male servants placed themselves in front of the female staff. The air suddenly stilled and there was a ringing in everyone’s ears.

It all culminated into a single solitary crack of thunder as a brilliant purple bolt of lightning crashed against the steps of the Spring Manor. The Manor shook and rumbled in response to the magical blast. The doors burst open and a very familiar face smirked at Lucien. His extravagant black curling hair tumbled down into his face as it always did. He wore a brilliant scarlet cloak that flapped behind him in a non-existent gust of wind. Brilliant white teeth flashed in a dazzling smile, and coal black eyes twinkled as they took in Lucien.

Moros Sorenson, the advisor of the Autumn Court and Lucien’s childhood friend stood before him clutching a mangled homing pigeon. On his shoulder one of his beloved pet ravens perched. Blood and gore dripped from its’ talons and claws.

“Why hello there, friend.” 

Andras was the first to regain his senses and did the most sensible thing he could in that moment. He picked up Leta Entwhistle around the waist and hustled her out there immediately as if her very life depended on it. Because Andras had heard enough from Lucien to know what kind of games Moros liked to play.

Moros was too intently focused on Lucien to notice that something he’d find as an extremely fun plaything, for about a week, was being removed from him. Lucien meanwhile had regained his senses and quickly dismissed all of the staff to spare them from similar if not worse fates.

“Good morning Moros, I see you’ve received my message,” Lucien stated calmly.

Moros dropped the pigeon carcass on the floor. It landed with a wet squelch as blood and gore spilled out onto the marble floor. The scarlet red against the white tile was making Lucien’s stomach churn. It’d been so many years and even still the sight of blood outside of combat made him ill. From Moros’ shoulder, his enormously large raven squawked and flapped its wings. Its snake like tail whipping around and hissing impatiently. 

Moros’ dark hand was still dripping blood onto the floor. The last time his hand had been like that, it had been Jesminda’s blood. Moros had been the one to tell on him. It was in a fit of jealous rage. To this day Lucien still wasn’t sure if Moros discovering him with Jesminda truly had all been a case of extremely bad luck or if someone else had played a hand in it. 

The raven’s four beady eyes glinted with malice as it clawed at its master’s shoulder. Moros was growing impatient and seemed nervous for the well-being of his expensive Ethisium imported tunic.  
He sighed and waved his hand, “Fine, eat Odin.”

The large angry black bird on his shoulder gave a croak before it descended on the pigeon and began to rip and shred at it. It hungrily tore off chunks of meat and quickly devoured them. Lucien watched the bird not quite sure the emotion to feel. In a way it reminded him of how Moros had flung himself at Jesminda before bringing her before Lucien’s father.

Moros stepped towards him and jerked him from those horrific memories. He reached a small hand out and clamped it down on Lucien’s shoulder. He smelled of expensive perfumes and oils. Lucien expected no less as Moros liked to spoil and primp himself.

“So, you’ve gotten yourself into quite the ordeal. But you wouldn’t be the Lucien I knew if you weren’t hurling yourself constantly into life and death situations and unable to get yourself out of them,” Moros smirked. His fingers played with the expensive gold brooch that rested on his chest.

“I don’t need your help,” Lucien stated plainly. Which was true, being indebted to Moros was bad enough. Being indebted to Moros while an enemy of the Autumn Court was perhaps about as favourable as being Amarantha’s plaything. At least with Amarantha, she was done toying with him once she plucked out his eye.

Moros sniffed in disapproval, “I think you do.”

“Well I don’t.” Lucien insisted stubbornly refusing to lose to Moros. They’d played this game so often when he was a child that there was no way he’d fall for Moros’ stints. His friend huffed and crossed him arms with a frown.

“You never think you need help when in fact you very much do. For instance, when your new High Lord offered you up like a lamb to the slaughter, you needed help-” Moros started but Lucien was quick to cut him off before he said something that would lead to Tamlin shredding him limb from limb. 

“I did not need help then.” Lucien insisted through bared teeth. His nostrils flared and he could feel the air temperature climb with his temper. A fire was burning and coiling in his stomach, threatening to escape. He inhaled deeply trying to quell the inferno inside. He couldn’t lose his temper and control. Tam had already lost his, the court couldn’t afford both of them off their chains.

Tam was most likely on another angry border patrol right now. The physical exertion made him feel like he was accomplishing something. But he had to have sensed Moros’ massive amount of magic energy, would register it as a threat. Lucien needed to get rid of Moros and fast. He couldn’t afford Tamlin misinterpreting this, and thinking he was plotting with Moros. 

His High Lord was panicking and flustered. Tam didn’t know how to play political games and right now he was scrambling to learn. Tam was a man of action and force not political scheming and subtlety. That was how Lucien was useful; that was how Lucien would repay his debt to Tamlin. By doing what Tamlin hadn’t been taught to do but Lucien had been bred to. He couldn’t do that if Tamlin was wrongly assuming he was consorting with Moros.

Moros had misinterpreted Lucien’s silence as weakness. As an uncertainty of what to do. Lucien could see the dangerous twinkle in Moros’ coal black eyes. It was like a snake, coiled and readied to strike. He thought he’d found an opening.

“Look, just let me handle the interrogations. I’ll get them over within a matter of a few hours.” Moros insisted with a wave of his hand. He then began a cursory glance over the Manor as if looking for where the prisoners were kept. 

Lucien had no doubt that Moros would have the interrogations done in the matter of a few hours. He glanced down at the mangled bird corpse. Lucien would not have been unable to identify what the gore stain on the floor was if there weren’t a few feathers floating in the blood. If Moros were allowed down in the dungeon, in a matter of a few hours that’s what the whole place would look. Moros would have fun tearing Teresa’s arms from their sockets. Would find knocking the last few of her teeth from her mouth entertaining. As much as Teresa had betrayed Lucien, had proven to be a Hybernian supporter, and venomous snake it didn’t warrant what Moros would do to her. 

Lucien’s stomach churned as he thought of the gore and horror that would wait for him in the dungeon if he allowed Moros down there. He doubted even Tamlin could stomach it, and he’d participated in the war. Moros would make the treatment of the slaves during the war seem humane.

“We’ve got our own person heading the interrogations,” Lucien insisted as he took a steadying breath, “They’re making a serum that will loosen anyone’s lips without a daemati. And they’ve also decided to use ash nails like in the trail of Yvainne.”

“Creative,” Moros agreed with a dangerous glint in his eye. Looks like Lucien had accidentally given him ideas, “Who?”

“Someone I’ve hired from the continent.” Lucien replied trying his best to sound natural. Hopefully the bait would distract Moros. Moros was far more world weary than him. He’d drive himself crazy trying to track down who it was that Lucien had hired. So distracted with a false lead he’d leave to investigate it.

Moros sighed and gently placed his hand on his heart. His long pretty eyelashes fluttered as he feigned insult, “You know it hurts that you hired someone before you asked for me.”

“I didn’t want to trouble you. I assumed that my father and brother were running you ragged,” Lucien assured him, “Plus like you said I get myself into trouble; I need to learn to get myself out of it.”

His lone russet eye traced over the elaborate brooch on Moros’ chest. That tiny bit of gold was what identified him as the Autumn Court advisor. The hand of the High Lord. Moros had been awarded title of council member for his participation in the war. For outing Lucien he’d gotten promoted to advisor. That’s what made Lucien suspect that it hadn’t been a matter of Moros in the right place at the right time. Someone had been pulling strings and making plans. Sometimes Lucien wanted to point his finger at Eris. Eris who’d been friends with Moros since the war; who Moros had followed for years before he one day latched himself onto Lucien. Lucien and Moros had been friends; Eris and Moros had been significantly close. The most intimate either of them had probably ever gotten was with each other.

“You like the medallion?” Moros asked as he puffed his chest out with pride, “It’s gold, so it goes with everything.”

“How’s it been? Is Advisor of the Autumn Court everything you wanted?” Lucien asked him. He was glad the conversation was diverted away from the investigation. He just hoped that Moros wouldn’t notice.

“That and more,” his friend smirked back. Moros paused cocking his head from side to side. His eyes were unfocused, staring on something that wasn’t there. Lucien watched Moros’ coal black eyes narrow, he waved his hand and Odin leapt up onto his arm.

His lips curled into a predatory smile, “You haven’t caught all of the spies yet have you?”

He affectionately stroked his pet raven blood still dripping daintily from its beak.

“Better catch those spies fast. They’re like pests, you miss one or two and within a matter of days there’s a whole new nest,” when it came to strategizing Moros always seemed to compare people to animals. Lucien wondered if it was because Moros actually saw everyone else like animals. Thought himself so above them. It also made Lucien wonder what animal Moros compared him to.  
Moros’ hand scratched his chin as he thought. Lucien remained silent letting Moros think and process.

“If I were you I’d look no further than the manor,” he informed Lucien. That seemed just about as much help as he’d give to Lucien for free. But it was more than Lucien needed or expected, “Thank you for the warning me about that bitchy witch. I’ll do my own thorough examination of the Autumn Court for spies. It’ll probably give Ophios and Daiphron something to do that will make daddy dearest proud.”  
The twins were most certainly looking for an excuse to get their father’s attention. Being only a few years older than Lucien they too had missed the opportunity to win favour with Beron by enlisting in the war. Neither had the chance to prove themselves a war hero like Eris. Nor did they have the chance to quell the rebellions of the Autumn court like Phineus. They were always hungry to win favour because they had just as much chance as Lucien once did for winning the throne. 

“You’re not going to tell Eris?” Lucien asked curious as to why Moros wasn’t acting the part of the obedient lap dog. Perhaps Moros’ fickle heart had lost interest in the golden boy of the Autumn Court.   
Moros’ face scrunched up as if he’d tasted something foul. His lips curled into a sneer and his nose crinkled, “And why would I involve Eris in anything that has to do with Amarantha?”

Lucien hadn’t thought of that. So, Moros hadn’t lost his interest in Eris yet. And as of right now Moros was actively seeking to protect Eris from Amarantha. It seems whatever spat the two of them had been in while Lucien was still at home had been resolved. 

“If you aren’t here to help, and you have things handled at home why bother coming here?” Lucien asked narrowing his eye in suspicion. Moros tutted at him as if the answer were plain to see.  
“Because I wanted to see my friend again. It’s been ages,” Moros stated and gave a smirk, “Plus I did help you. By the way Lucien, you always did like riddles. You might find this one to be helpful in the coming days. Mountains are often my source because they tend to give me force.”

Lucien kept his face impassive not giving away how he felt towards what Moros had given him. His mind quickly filing away the riddle for later. He wondered what the riddle was supposed to help with, Amarantha or the spies?

“Also, I thought you’d want this,” Moros stated reaching into the pocket of his trousers. He withdrew a piece of jewellery and admired it for several long seconds. “I was just minding my own business when I happened upon Eris’ private chest unlocked. And maybe poked my nose around in it. I thought you’d want this back.”

He tossed the piece at Lucien. It was something connected to an elaborate gold chain. Lucien almost missed catching it from the air. He was still adapting to his altered depth perception. His hand closed around a charm of some kind and the chain dangled from his fist. Lucien wasn’t surprised that Moros was poking his nose through other people’s things, he’d always been a bit of a magpie and a snoop.  
Hesitantly Lucien uncurled his fingers, and laid his eyes on a familiar charm. A golden pendant with a stag and a doe carved into it, the two pieces were capable of being separated and placed on separate chains. He’d gotten it as a gift for Jesminda. The very same gift that had cost Jesminda her life. The same one Moros had found in his private chest.

Moros was waiting for Lucien’s response. The Court Emissary swallowed, suddenly aware that his mouth had gone dry. He curled his fingers back over the small charm. He wanted nothing more than to hurl the damn thing as far as he could. He couldn’t do that here of course. 

“Thank you.” He stated doing his best to sound earnest.

Moros gave him a smirk and an extravagant bow, as if he were preening his feathers. Odin squawked irately at being shifted around so suddenly but his owner ignored him.

“I’ve got some spies to slay,” Moros sighed and turned on his heel heading towards the door of the Manor, “Farewell old friend.”

“Until we meet again,” Lucien parroted. 

Moros strode towards the doors he’d blasted open with his magic and began trotting down the steps of the manor. About half way down he waved his hand and in another crack of brilliant purple lightening he’d vanished. The only trace of his visit was the fact that the foyer was empty and Lucien’s hand was heavy with a necklace he’d hoped he’d never see again. Lucien quickly stuffed the necklace into his pocket hoping that he would forget it.

The silence of the hall was quickly broken by footsteps rapidly running towards him. He turned back to the hall to see a worried Alis and Tabatha running towards him. Both women had expressions of frightened determination. In Alis’ hands was a fire place poker no doubt to serve as a make shift weapon. 

“We came as soon as we heard!” Alis explained breathlessly. Her brown hair falling out of her braid. The whites of her eyes were showing and she had a faint tremor. But despite her fear she’d come. Lucien was thankful for her, he wouldn’t have been able to adjust as well as he had to the Spring Court if it hadn’t been for her.

“Once Simone told me about the Autumn Court advisor I told Alis and we came together,” Tabatha reaffirmed with a nod of her head. She glanced around worriedly rubbing her arms as if keeping away a chill, “I heard from a friend in that court what he’s like.”

“Was she one of the maids?” Alis asked knowingly.

“But that’s beside the point! Lucien are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Lucien replied trying to brush off the topic as quickly as possible, “I can handle Moros. We go back three centuries after all.” 

Alis gave him a sympathetic look, “Just because you can handle someone doesn’t mean you should have to do it alone. If Tamlin wasn’t so preoccupied right now I would have fetched him. But I figured that I’d have to do in the pinch.”

“Thank you Alis,” Lucien stated gratefully, and then turned to Tabatha, “You as well Tabatha. Thank you.”

His stomach suddenly rumbled and he froze embarrassed. It suddenly dawned on him that he hadn’t anything to eat since lunch yesterday before he went to visit Leta’s room. His face was blazing hot and so were his ears. He was well aware of the fact he had a blush.

“Would I be correct in assuming that you haven’t had breakfast?” Alis asked him with a slight scolding mother tone. Her hands rested on her hips as her head cocked to the side. The fire poker bounced ominously on her hip and Lucien had the sudden fear that she’d spank him with it as if he were one of her nephews.

“I was a bit distracted,” he admitted sheepishly his eye following the movement of the heavy metal instrument carefully. His stomach gave another ferocious rumble and he clamped his hands down over his stomach.

Tabatha clucked her tongue as she adjusted her yellow headband, “You shouldn’t be skipping meals Lucien! Alis make sure to get him something hearty to eat! And that he doesn’t skip tea time again today. I’d take my tea with him but I’m leaving to collect herbs today. Our stocks are running low and-”

“You don’t have someone else to spare right now,” Alis nodded understandingly, “If I could read I’d gladly collect what you need. But those healers were smart and destroyed all of the books with pictures of the plants. I’d have no idea what I am looking for. Perhaps… if that doctor’s daughter proves innocent then we can ask her for help.”

Lucien hadn’t thought of that. It was actually a good idea to put aside and mull over later. Tabatha after all couldn’t handle all of the healing needs within the Spring Court on her own. 

“She does seem to know what she was doing. By the time I’d arrived to her room yesterday she’d managed most of the work by herself. She really only needed someone who could do what she was physically incapable of,” Tabatha agreed excitedly with a radiant smile, “Her family might still have books that weren’t damaged.”

“It’s something to think about.” Lucien agreed.

“Tabatha you should go get those herbs. The faster you go the faster you can return. Alis I’ll take breakfast in the dining room.” Lucien ordered the two women. Tabatha gave him a polite curtsey and set off. Tucked into her belt were a handful of gardening implements, and she carried a number of bottles for her samples in a basket. She wore gumboots which told Lucien she’d probably be marching off to the marshes or near some of the ponds and springs.

Alis waited patiently until Tabatha was out of earshot, “I’ve been watching the doctor’s daughter like you asked. Andras seems to trust her; I spoke with him last night when I delivered his coffee. I still don’t know. She’s smart Lucien but sheltered.”

“Lord Entwhistle could have easily influenced both of his daughters with extremist ideas. I want to believe her in my heart, but I still doubt her,” Alis admitted with a sigh.

“I understand Alis. Moros as usual was as helpful as a spoon with a hole. But he did reaffirm that there’s still a spy amongst us and gave me some sort of riddle. I think the riddle will either tell us about the spy or about their next move,” he watched the interest flash in Alis’ brown eyes.

“What’s the riddle?” Alis asked him eagerly. 

“Mountains are often my source because they tend to give me force,” Lucien recited still uncertain of the answer. It seemed that the answer was something in nature. Lucien wondered if the spy was a nymph or another elemental fae. It was so vastly different from the background of the other spies.

“Isn’t the royal family of the Court of Sands associated with mountains? Isn’t their house sigil a mountain?” Alis asked him suddenly, “Does this mean it is the Entwhistle girl? Is the truth serum a rouse?”

“I don’t know, but time will tell. Keep an eye on her,” Lucien decided as he mulled over the possibilities. He wished he’d learned more about the court on the continent now. He only knew the very basics about the country, he’d been more interested in the Prythian and Hybernian courts in his studies.

“I’ll prepare your breakfast then,” Alis decided and gave him a curtsey. He bowed his head and watched her trot off to the kitchens before he made his way to the dining room. He chose the small breakfast table and collapsed in one of the chairs. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until that instant.

He’d gotten several hours of sleep last night but it still felt as though he hadn’t slept a wink. His eyes felt crusty and dry with sleep and his lids were threatening to fall shut at a second’s notice. A yawned slipped through him and he closed his eyes for just a second.

He was interrupted by a knocking on the dining room door. He perked up and called out to his visitor. It was the boy from the pigeon post last night who poked his head in. His cheeks flushed from rushing over, in his hand were three scrolls. The responses from the other courts and a note from Moros. Apparently the advisor had sped along their deliveries. The other courts were grateful for Lucien’s warning notice and were now on guard for the coming ball. 

He felt the weight on his shoulders lessening. He had one less thing to worry about with Autumn, Summer and Winter aware of the danger. He released a grateful sigh and massaged his temples. If he could he’d go and collapse in bed to sleep on this small victory. However, he settled for reading the other responses instead.

The admiral of the Summer Court, Tarquin, had been the one to receive Lucien’s letter. His boats happened to be near the border which is why he’d received the letter. He’d kindly offered to write to the Solar Courts for him and Lucien sighed in relief that he didn’t need to worry over that. He made a note to find a gift to send to the admiral as thanks for this generous favour.

Kallias had been the one to receive Lucien’s letter, and he’d been extremely grateful in his response. His court was now scrutinizing itself very carefully and regarding Amarantha as a legitimate threat to Prythian now. He’d been vague on the preparations his court was taking but whatever they were they seemed drastic.

He glanced at Moros’ letter just as Alis swept in and delivered to him a light breakfast of quail eggs on toasted muffins with grilled sausage. She paired it with large serving of an orange tea. He warmed his hands around the mug and relished in the comforting warmth of his beverage. Unlike the Spring Court, Autumn had a chill more often than not. Never quite as cold as Winter but far colder than Spring even on its coldest days. So unlike most of the Spring Court, Lucien had a special appreciation for warm drinks. He took a moment to inhale the aroma of oranges, cinnamon, and mint.

He took his time with the tea before he decided what he’d do now that he didn’t need to contact the other courts. Perhaps it was time to interrogate some of the prisoners again. He played with his food as he thought about the questions he ask Theresa.


	6. Chapter 6

“Andras why did you grab me like that?” Leta asked him once he felt they were far enough away to put her down. She stood up and brushed out at her skirts, wincing occasionally when she moved the wrong way. She stumbled, looking pale and dizzy, if not a bit sick to her stomach. He readied himself to hold her hair back in case she vomited.

“That was the Advisor of the Autumn Court,” he explained to her but saw no recognition in her eyes, “Didn’t your father ever tell you about Autumn Court boys?”

“Put my head down, and speak only when spoken to.” She replied as if it were a simple mantra. Clearly it’d been driven into her and Andras had to stop himself from slamming his fist into his head hard enough to make him forget what he’d just heard.

“Fuck,” he spat and watched about fifteen emotions flash across Leta’s face at once. One was disgust at the cuss, and another was devilish excitement. The others were too fast and varied for him to really put names to. 

“Your father was teaching you the right thing to do if you want to get bloody well-” he stopped himself watching the nervousness that began to grown on her face. Regardless of whether or not she knew how he was going to finish that sentence, she got the intent clear enough.

“He… he just meant that it would make me seem… marriageable.” She settled on and he wanted to tell her he knew. He knew that’s what her father’s advice meant. And if put into practice she’d have ended up like the Lady of the Autumn Court. That was if she got lucky.

Andras sighed and scratched at the stubble on his jaw. Leta had gotten up so god forsakenly early he hadn’t had a chance to groom this morning. Nor had he really planned out how he’d speak to her, since her experience outside of her father’s tightly controlled environment seemed to be about the size of a teaspoon. Didn’t help he still wasn’t used to speaking with ladies of noble birth and whatnot. He might be a High Fae but he came from AppleButton which was a small town and didn’t exactly have gentry.

“Look ignore everything your father ever said about men.”

She opened her mouth to protest and he shot her a stern look that shut her mouth, “Autumn Court boys are the vilest of sort, and the only ones worse than them are Night Court boys.”

“My father said he wouldn’t marry into the Night Court unless-”

“If your father says the sky is red, is it red?” 

She shook her head at him. 

She was book smart, not too unlike Tabatha. She knew things he could barely wrap his head around, using big and fancy words and language he couldn’t understand. But for all her intelligence she wasn’t wise, and it wasn’t her fault. Tabatha he could fault for being as dumb as a doornail about how the world was because she chose to turn a blind eye. She just chose not to see the bad and vile parts of the world. Leta however, had been groomed not to see those things. Kept in a gilded cage. Now was his opportunity to give her some useful information that would have been withheld from her.

“Night and Autumn boys are vile, I don’t give a donkey’s ass what you father says. If he tries to wed you off that way why I’ll castrate the little grubby fucker that thinks he can put his hands on you,” he watched her flush bright red and an odd sort of sound that was half giggle and half cough slipped from her, “Now Dawn court boys are about as straight as a mountain is small. Summer Court boys are nice but they’ll almost never be home because the sea’s stolen their heart. A Day Court boy would have his nose in a book more often than between your thig-uh that is to say… he reads a lot… you might actually like that kind of thing.”

How the fuck does one speak properly to a Lady about these things Andras squawked in his mind. He was thankful he didn’t finish that one quip he was making, it was funny. He was pretty proud of himself that he came up with it on the spot. It was the sort of thing that’d make Tam laugh. However, it was also the sort of thing that would lead to Lucien terrorizing him for saying in front of this girl.  
He coughed and finished off his list, “I’m a bit biased but I’d say that Spring Court Boys are the best. We’re a stupid lot but we mean well. I can’t speak much for the gentry, but I grew up in Applebutton and most of the sentries come from there. I know them all, they’re good men.”

“Do you know all of this because of the war?” Leta asked him curiously. Her eyes were a sapphire blue, and the way they stood out against her silver hair made them seem twice as large. 

“Yeah,” he nodded impressed that she’d figured that out. He puffed his chest out reflexively, proud he’d been recognized for his service. It seemed like there wasn’t a lot of respect these days for the veterans. 

“What about boys from the Court of Sands?” his ward asked him curiously, her voice breathy with uncertainty. Her hands nervously twisting a kerchief. That was when he realized where she descended from. He’d been wondering about that since he’d met her. 

Her colouration wasn’t from the Spring Courts. He’d thought that perhaps it had been one of the other Pyrthian courts. The friends he’d made in Summer and Day during the treaty writings and celebrations had similar skin tones. Considering her book smarts and mannerisms he’d wrongly assumed Day. He’d never considered Sand. He’d been stationed with them for a portion of his war service. She wasn’t anything like any of those savages he’d worked with.

He took a moment to think before he responded. The Court of Sands was a mess to say in the least. It didn’t help that their last High Lord, Kaseem, was a right crazy nut case who seemed to have lust for blood shed. His death had thrown the entire court into a brutal civil war that as far as Andras knew was still raging today.

“I’d say they’re more of the vile lot,” he replied honestly and watched her shoulders slump the slightest bit as a disappointed “oh” slipped from her. Her blue eyes darted to the floor of the stable as an awkward silence began to spread between them. Andras couldn’t think of a way to comfort her, he’d just stated the facts. And it didn’t seem that Leta had anything to add. He was realizing that she probably didn’t know anything about the court she was connected to by blood.

“I figured as much,” she admitted in a tiny voice, “From the way my father talked about my mother’s homeland.”

“Did you not know her?” Andras asked her curiously.

“I was too young to remember her. She died shortly after giving birth to Iphy. All I have of her and that court are my blade and this necklace,” she explained to him. And he watched as she gently caressed the amber beads strung around her neck.

Andras felt sorry for her in that moment. She must have had a lonely childhood. He’d adored his mother, had sobbed for days when he’d gotten news that she’d been a causality in the war. He couldn’t imagine getting through his childhood without her love and care.

“I’m sorry,” he comforted unsure of what else to say. Another awkward silence filled the stable. The two of them were still waiting for one of the horses to pee. 

The animals went about their business around them. There was the soft shuffle and scuffle on hooves on the wooden planks, swishing of tails. The air was ripe with the smell of the animals.   
Andras tried brighten the mood, “It seems like the second you rely on an animal to get something done it forgets how to do what you needed it to do.”

A smile stretched across her face and she nodded along with his comment. But he couldn’t help but to notice how the small girl kept fidgeting with her hair to try and cover her face. Honestly her scars didn’t frighten him, he’d seen worse on the battlefield. He’d been there when Murtagh’s skull had been cracked open. He’d seen innocent civilians lose limbs and lives. A few scabby marks on someone’s face even if they pulled her gums back into a snarl didn’t faze him much. Just as he was trying to figure out a way to articulate that thought she spoke up instead.

“I like horses,” Leta piped up. And Andras watched as Leta eagerly began to ramble on and on about horses to him. She was buzzing with excitement, he could see it in the way her small hands would clench into fists and she was jittering. And at least she’d chosen something that he could follow and contribute to. 

He could feel a smile stretch on his face as he replied to her, telling her about his experience of raising horses on his farm in Applebutton. The two of them discussing various breeds. He appreciated how she listened intently to what he said and didn’t disregard it because of his rank. When he critiqued some of her readings from books written by stuffy old lords she asked him for his sources and allowed him to support his arguments. She treated him like an equal both in terms of intellect and rank. It was a rare occurrence for one of the gentry to speak to him like that, and it helped him to relax in her presence and not worry so much about his mannerisms,

The conversation turned from talking about horses to him describing Applebutton to her and what farm life was like. And she hungrily listened to everything he had to say. He could see her relaxing, the kerchief being put away in her pocket. Her hands folded and rested politely on her lap as her eyes followed his hands as they motioned in the air to follow what he had to say.

Once again she tried to hide her face behind her hair. Shifting her braid to try and cover the wounds on her face. He reached out to her, his large hand catching her much smaller one. His mouth opened to tell her that it was alright and not to be embarrassed. But finally it seemed that one of the horses needed to piss and the two of them suddenly became a mess. 

It seemed that best laid plans truly did fall apart because for all of their preparations they weren’t ready. Andras managed to shove the bucket in place before they missed the opportunity. Finally, they had the bucket of horse urine they needed for her experiment. Andras carried it back up to Leta’s room not wanting her to ruin her pretty gown. She trotted after him as she peppered him with questions about his upbringing.

She kindly directed him where to put the piss bucket and then grabbed the apron she asked for the day before. He watched as she tossed the neck strap on and quickly tied the straps in place behind her back. Her hands snatched for the goggles she’d asked for but he watched as she struggle to reach upwards to put them in place.

“Here let me get that,” Andras offered and helped her affix the goggles to her face. Lastly she reached for a pair of gloves and then turned and looked up at him with a smile.

“Thanks!” she chirped, “Um by the way, you’re going to want to stay away from the laboratory area. I guess you can sit on my bed and watch?”

“Is it going to smell?” He asked her worriedly as he glanced at the piss bucket with a scrunched up nose.

“I have to boil the water out of the urine first, so unfortunately it is going to smell very bad for a while,” she admitted to him very apologetically.

“That’s all I needed to hear, I’ll be in the hall enjoying my watch,” he began to stride over to the door and paused before turning around and walking towards the window. He could see the question growing on her face, by the cauldron this girl can’t hide a single thought that passes through her head he thought to himself, “Got to make sure you can’t hurl yourself through the window today!”

The small girl politely hid her laugh behind her hand as a pink blush coated her cheeks. Andras had only known her for a day, and even though she was a bit intimidating to him being all prim and proper he was growing to like her. 

He let himself out of Leta’s room and collapsed in the chair next to her bedroom door waiting for Alis to come by so he could flag her down for some food. He rested his chin on his hand and heard a startled scream come from Leta’s room. He opened the door and poked his head in.

“I’m alright!” Leta insisted hysterically, “I just scared myself with the Bunsen burner!”

He glanced over to see a small flame flickering on the desk and then at Leta who was trembling while holding a lighter. The small metal instrument clinking in her hands.

“How about I do that next time?” he offered her.

“No! I can do it!” she insisted as she set her shoulders straight. She looked about as threatening as a guppy. But he liked her grit. She reminded him of the fresh faced recruits he’d train to become sentries. Well-meaning and brave but fool hardy. Perhaps that’s why she was growing on him.

“Alrighty then,” Andras answered and went back out into the hall.

He sat himself down in the large chair that Lucien had got for him. It was a comfy plush thing. He rested his head back and settled in for several long hours of keeping watch. It was a boring position that he’d been assigned since it was apparent Leta wasn’t at high risk of attempting an escape. But he wasn’t going to complain about it. Lucien himself asked for him to be there and he had to respect that. At the very least Leta was proving to be friendlier than he’d expected and refreshing to be around. He’d expected several days of guarding a snob who wouldn’t deign to speak with him.

Down the hall he could hear the sounds of the house staff going about their duties. Alis’ voice chiming out occasionally as she delegated tasks and directed her underlings in their duties. The Bean-Tighe ran a tight ship. Andras respected her hard work and dedication to her position. He tossed a glance down the hall towards where the maids shuffled in and out of the rooms there. He wondered if Alis had a moment to spare to fetch him some lunch.

He glanced around trying to spot his dark haired friend. Finally he spotted Alis slapping her hands against her apron as she worked to pass out clean linens from the loaded cart she’d brought from the laundry room. Her brown hair pulled into a tight bun at the nap of her neck. Her two nephews who usually clung to her skirts were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Alis had asked for them to stay in her room given the news that a naga had been roaming the grounds. He felt bad for those two boys and told himself he’d take them to the training fields when he had a spare moment to get them some fresh air and exercise.

Just as he was going to check in on his prisoner to ask if she wanted lunch as well he heard a familiar sound of hooves clopping on the floor of the halls. He instantly perked up and searched for the source of the familiar hoof falls. A familiar face was poking in and out of one of the rooms being cleaned.

A blush spread across his face as he glanced over Minthe. She’d stolen his heart the second he laid his eyes on her two years ago. She so elegant and graceful. With delicate features and smouldering eyes. Her hair was always well groomed and her coat was always shining. She often smelled of gardenias. Her father was one of the gardeners and she often weaved them into her hair.

Embarrassed by his blush he glanced away from the maids towards the opposite end of the hall. He focused on the ornate end table with an elegant vase resting atop of it hoping for his blush to fade. The flowers in it had been changed just this morning. Delicate pink roses had replaced the cheery yellow roses of yesterday. When he finally felt the blush begin to slip off of his face he chanced a glance back to the maids.

Minthe was slipping her way back out of the room she had been cleaning once again with a set of sheets in her arms. The second his eyes landed on her his heart had sped up again, excitement shot down his spine and filled his whole body. In his opinion Minthe was one of the most gorgeous maids in the entirety of the Spring Manor.   
She had a pale heart shaped face with a long straight curtain of honey blonde hair that complimented her buttery yellow coat. Her long pointed ears poked through her hair, revealing the small gold studs that twinkled in them.

Minthe huffed as she worked to fold the sheets and place them on the cart for dirty laundry. Alis came over to help her fold the sheets. As the two of them worked Minthe’s hooves impatiently clacked on the marble floor. Andras wondered to himself how he’d go about impressing her. He’d tried of course, he’d been trying for two years now. But every attempt ended in horrific embarrassment for him.  
He watched as the two maids chatted and if Andras had wanted to he could easily listen in on their conversation. But wanting to remain polite he decided to simply watch from afar. Minthe had a pout spread across her plump red lips as she spoke to Alis. Her tail swished from side to side as Alis handed her a bundled of fresh linens. 

As Minthe turned about to head back to the room she’d been assigned she glanced up at him. A flirtatious smirk spread across her face and with a flick of her tail she trotted over to him. She wore a white apron over her scarlet tunic. He could see that she’d recently had her hooves polished from how they shined. She came to a stop in front of him resting the laundry basket on her hip as she regarded him.  
“Why hello there mister big, strong sentry,” she teased him, “What are you up to today?”

He tried his best to play it off as cool and confident. Well aware of the fact that sweat was puckering on his brow and that his face was threatening to catch on fire at a second’s notice. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back as casually as he could in his large plush chair.

“Keeping you safe,” he told her and nodded at the large oak doors behind him, “I’m currently keeping twenty four hour watch over an important prisoner. The Court Emissary himself asked me to do this.”

“Is that so?” Minthe asked him still with that teasing smirk on her lips. He could barely keep his eyes off of the beauty mark that rested just above her lip. He was glad that at least he had his eyes on her face and not any lower.

“Yep. I’ve been up close and personal with them for a whole day now,” he assured her, “One of the accused. A possible spy and cut throat from Hybern.”

“Sounds important and dangerous,” Minthe breathed placing a hand on her chest, “I suppose I should show some appreciation for all your hard work.”

“Just doing my job,” he smiled back but nonetheless leaned forward for her to plant an affectionate kiss on his cheek. He felt happy from his head to his toes, “The danger is worth it if I’m going to have pretty girls like you giving me kisses.”

“Danger?” Alis suddenly chirped making him jump in his chair. He glanced over at the Bean-Tighe who seemed to appear out of nowhere, “You’re guarding a young lady who regardless of whether not she’s a spy could hardly hurt a fly.”

Minthe giggled at Andras’ expense and he flushed bright scarlet red. She turned around and went back to the room she was tending to giving him a quick wave over her shoulder. Alis meanwhile had her hands on her hips as she gave him a stern look.

“Really Andras? Distracting my girls like that?” Alis scolded him but there was a playful twinkle in her eye as she did, “Let me give you some advice, don’t exaggerate what you’re doing. You’ll just make a fool out of yourself when the girls find out the truth.”

“Now, I’m going to go ahead and make a guess here. But I bet you’re looking forward to some lunch?” Alis asked him with a grin. She knew him better than his own mother did at times. 

He patted his stomach as he nodded, “Food would be much appreciated.”

The maid shook her head at him, “Well I’ll see to it that you have lunch delivered to you promptly then. Perhaps by Minthe?”

An enormously broad grin stretched across his face and Alis laughed at him. He watched as Alis went over to speak with Minthe. The centaur bowed at the waist before she set off to go and retrieve lunch for Andras. Sometimes it seemed like Alis made for a better wingman than most of his fellow sentries. As Minthe trotted down the hall, Andras glanced over at Alis giving her a wink and a thumbs up.  
It was when glassware shattering in the room behind him that he remembered that he was looking after Leta and had forgotten to ask if she wanted anything for lunch. He quickly got up and opened the door to the room they’d put her in. It was actually his room, hence why he was given a chair to rest in. He hadn’t minded the loss considering the circumstances they were all being put through and that they were only temporary.

As he opened the door he found Leta skittering back away from the broken glass waving a pair of small tongs in the air. Her other arm busy with covering her nose. Her room or rather more correctly his room stank of horse piss. He crinkled his nose glad that he’d chosen to stand out in the hall. He was momentarily distracted with the idea of opening the window to air the room out and hopefully save his belongings from smelling like they’d been urinated on.

Leta turned and looked over at him, “Sorry! Won’t happen again!”

She went to bend over and clean up her mess but quickly cried out in pain and grabbed her side. Her hand trembled as it pressed down on her side, small whimpers slipping from her. He rushed over to her side.

“Hey you alright?” he asked her. He peeled her hand away from her wound afraid that she’d accidentally torn it open. There was no sign of any blood coming through her gown. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m fine,” she insisted but he could still hear the pain in her voice.

“Here let’s sit down for a second,” he whispered to her and led her over to his bed. She tried to brush him off but he insisted, “Calm down, catch your breath. Now I’m about to get myself some lunch, you want anything?”

“I’d like something please,” she responded with an embarrassed pink blush on her cheeks, “I’m sorry about the mess. I’m just still trying to get used to doing everything I’ve read about. It’s harder than I thought it would be.”

Andras glanced down at the broken glassware on the floor, “Well I can’t say much about what you’re doing. But when I was a boy I wanted to be the sentry from the time I could swing a tree branch around like a sword. And I’ll admit I had a bit of a mean streak where I went around picking fights with the other Applebutton boys to see if I could beat them. When I enlisted in the army for the war I thought I was an up and coming big shot. I thought I was something because none of the boys around my age in Applebutton could best me in wrestling or sword play. And then I went to war and found out I wasn’t as good as I thought. I had my ass handed to me.”

He patted Leta on the back, “So if a nobody like me from a little itty bitty town can survive the war. You can do… whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

He watched her chest puff out from his successful attempt to put wind in her sails. Her small hands making tight fists and she gave a nod of affirmation. She went to get to her feet but he gently sat her back down.

“Here let me clean this mess up,” Andras insisted, “You shouldn’t be bending and twisting that much with what you’ve got. And once that mess is clean I’m going to rush down to the kitchens and scrounge us up some food.”


End file.
